


A Kiss is Just a Kiss

by Penthesilea1623



Category: Dragon Age, Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, a bit of angst, kiss prompts, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:57:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penthesilea1623/pseuds/Penthesilea1623
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kiss drabbles (okay most are far longer than drabbles) from the Kisses prompt on tumblr, from all the various stories I have going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Kiss in the Snow (Sebastian Vael/Anabel Hawke)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by missmeggo929 and brushfireartshenanigans: A kiss in the rain/snow between Sebastian Vael and Anabel Hawke. Takes place in the middle of Chapter One of All That Might Be: Choices.

It’s almost the solstice, almost a month after her fight with the Arishok. Though she still gets absurdly tired from even the smallest things, she whined and pleaded and complained enough that Anders and Sebastian have agreed to let her come downstairs during the day now. 

She still lies around like some sort of feeble maiden, which she supposes is what she is these days, but at least the view is different for a few hours.

She’s getting so tired of this whole invalid thing.

She’s been resting all day (all week, all month), been following all their rules, and Maker, who would have thought that Anders and Sebastian would be working together so efficiently to keep her from doing absolutely anything, but they have been. It wasn’t so bad when she didn’t have the energy to do anything more than lie there reading a page or two of a book before falling asleep, but in the last few days that’s changed and now she’s restless and bored and more than anything else, tired of being inside.

She’s going to change that tonight.

Anders, who was supposed to be on babysitting duty tonight, was called back to the clinic on an emergency. 

Sebastian’s assisting with the preparations for the Solstice Service at the Chantry and won’t be back until morning.

Boy is asleep on the hearth. Bodahn and Orana are busy putting the candles on the Solstice tree in the main room, and Sandal is watching excitedly. They’re completely absorbed by the task, facing away from the library and the door to the kitchen. 

She swiftly returns to the couch where she’s been sitting all day and retrieves the cloak she hid under the cushions earlier.

She’s going outside. She hasn’t been outside in a month. 

They can’t get too furious with her, she reasons. She’s not going to leave the house. Not technically. Just go into the garden to see the snow she’s only peered at through the window upstairs. 

She sneaks out of the library and into the kitchen hallway without anyone noticing and goes quickly through the garden door. 

And Maker, it’s cold out. For a moment it takes her breath away, makes her shiver in the dress she’s wearing. In her convalescence she’s discovered just how comfortable dresses are when all you do is lie about. They’re useless for the things she usually does, of course. She’d slipped her boots on just after Anders had left, when this idea first occurred to her, and she’s glad she did because the undisturbed snow in the garden comes up to mid-calf. 

In spite of the cold, it feels glorious to be out in the fresh air. It’s snowing again, or still, big fat flakes of snow that clump together and then fall lazily to the ground. Everything is covered in snow; the trees and shrubs, the chairs and table on the patio, the fountain. It’s strangely light in the garden as if moonlight is shining down, but she knows it’s just the whiteness of the snow that makes it look like that. 

It looks magical. Unreal. Just beautiful. Crisp and clean and absolutely perfect. She wonders if the rest of Kirkwall is as transformed. She bends down and picks up a handful of snow, irritated with herself for not remembering gloves. Even the snow is perfect, not to dry, not too wet. Perfect for snowballs, and snow forts and snowmen. 

She hasn’t made a snowman in years, not since they left Ferelden.

She could make a small one there on the table. Surely she could get that done before someone notices she’s gone missing.

The table’s piled high with snow and she quickly packs it into a large ball. She scoops up another few handfuls from the chair, packing it together until a second, smaller sphere is on top of the first. She has to pause to try and warm her hands, and she’s just forming a third snowball for the head, when she hears it.

Boy barking. Orana frantically calling out “Mistress?” And then the garden door opens and Sebastian calls out. “Anabel?”

 _Oh crap_. Instinctively, she ducks down behind the table, and almost immediately wonders why. Her footprints form a path right to where she’s squatting in the snow (a really bad idea in a dress, she discovers), and it’s not as if Sebastian is going to give up looking for her, not until he finds her.

“You do know I can see you, right?” He says, somehow managing to sound both angry and amused.

Deciding she’s damned no matter what she does, she straightens up and throws the snowball in her hand, with deadly accuracy. It hits Sebastian right in the face.

She’s never seen him look so startled, so stunned, so utterly taken aback, not in the three years she’s known him. She can’t help it. She starts to laugh.

Sebastian wipes the snow from his face and stares at her, and she realizes that probably no one has ever done that to him. That probably no one would ever dare to hurl a handful of snow in the face of the Prince of Starkhaven, or at proper Brother Sebastian, and that just makes her laugh more, so much so that she falls over and sits there in the snow giggling like the madwoman he undoubtedly thinks she is.

He walks over and pulls her to her feet, shaking his head when he notices she’s not even wearing gloves. “There are times Anabel Hawke, that I quite doubt your sanity.” But he’s smiling at her. It’s wonderful to hear her laugh like that again. “Come let’s get you inside. You should be resting.”

“Oh no, not yet please. I feel fine. I’m not even tired.” She reaches up and brushes the snow from his hair. “I’m sorry, truly I am. You were too tempting a target to resist.”

She’s smiling up at him, her dimple dancing at the corner of her mouth, her cheeks pink with cold, her eyes sparkling even in the dim light of the garden. Her hood has fallen back and her hair is covered in snowflakes. She looks happier, more like herself than she has in weeks.

He bends down and places a gentle kiss on her forehead.

A kiss on the forehead. A kiss on the cheek. A kiss on the top of the head. Ever since she was injured, and then ill, that’s been the extent of things between them. He treats her as if she’s made of delicate crystal, too delicate to be touched almost.

It’s infuriating. She could almost believe she’d imagined those other kisses.

Before he can straighten up she’s wound her fingers in the fur collar of his hood and pulled his head down again. She goes up on her toes and brushes her lips against his. He goes still. 

He shouldn’t. She’s still not well. She’s still so frail. But he doesn’t pull away; in fact he takes a step closer, letting himself inhale that sweet fragrance that’s so uniquely Anabel.

Encouraged, she catches his lower lip between hers and runs her tongue against it. He still doesn’t respond.

She pulls her head back to look at him. The snow is coming down more heavily now and it lands on her eyelashes and she has to blink it away before she can get a good look at him.

She doesn’t see what she feared she might; he’s not indifferent, quite the contrary. There’s a look of longing in his eyes that sends a thrill through her, right down to her toes. Her lips curve into a small smile. “I won’t break, you know.” She teases reaching up and stroking his face.

“You’re still not well.” His protest sounds half-hearted even to him.

“I’m well enough for a kiss, surely.” She sees his eyes flicker to her mouth and then back up to her eyes, and there’s a heat in them now that she hasn’t seen in weeks. She goes up on her toes again, and he leans forward until their lips are almost touching. “Just a little one.” She whispers so close that he can feel her breath soft against his mouth.

The trouble is he doesn’t think he can stop at just a little kiss. He closes the distance between them and at the first taste of her lips, he’s knows that’s a lie. It’s not that he can’t stop.

He doesn’t want to stop. And when she’s responding this eagerly, pressing herself against him, opening herself to him, nipping and biting and tasting, and when he’s meeting each caress of lips and tongue with his own, he can’t think of a good reason to stop.

Not until she suddenly pulls away and sneezes violently. She laughs and reaches up for him again and sneezes again.

Reality rushes back. Her hair is almost white with the snow that’s fallen, and he’s certain his is as well. But he has gloves and a fur lined coat.

She’s in just a simple dress with a cloak not nearly warm enough for the weather, with no hood, or gloves.

“Inside.” He orders. “Now.”

She lets him guide her inside, a pleased smile on her face.

He still wants her. Still finds her desirable.

That knowledge alone is worth the head cold she gets that sends her back up to her bedroom for another week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference pictures, as well as Dragon Age related ramblings are on my tumblr: [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	2. An Eyelid Kiss (Sebastian Vael/Anabel Hawke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An eyelid kiss between Anabel Hawke and Sebatian Vael, requested by genginger. In which Sebastian gardens, Anabel watches him, and John Donne is apparently a poet in Thedas. Takes place during Chapter 5 of All That Might Be: Choices.

Anabel’s sitting on a blanket in her garden reading, letting the sunlight dry the hair she’d washed earlier. Spring has finally come, and as if to apologize for the harshness of the winter that preceded it, it’s a perfect spring, all soft breezes and dappled sunlight and fragrant blossoms, and temperatures that are neither too hot nor too cold. She spends most of her time out here. 

She’s quite recovered from her injuries and the illness that followed, not that any of her friends seem convinced of it. They don’t ever leave her quite by herself, not after some of the escapades she pulled while she was recovering – her jaunt in the snow, or that time she snuck down to the basement to practice some of her acrobatics, forgetting that she was out of shape and her hand was weaker after she’d broken so many bones, and she’d landed badly, twisting her ankle. Anders had been furious and refused to heal it, saying it wasn’t serious and maybe if she didn’t have the crutch of knowing he’d always be there with his magic to patch her up, she’d be a little more careful. He relented two days later when, impatient with hobbling down the stairs one step at a time, she’d decided to hop down on her good foot, had missed a step and sprained that ankle as well, badly this time. 

It was decided then that she couldn’t be trusted unsupervised. She didn’t mind most of the time. She didn’t mind at all right now.

She glances surreptitiously up from the book of poetry she’s supposed to be reading. Sebastian had arrived earlier with half a dozen climbing rosebushes that he’d brought from the Chantry. She’d given him free reign with her garden earlier in the spring, realizing he knew far more about the subject than she could ever glean from reading books on horticulture, and he has an eye for it as well. These particular roses were going to be trained into an arch over a bench, apparently. It sounded like it would be beautiful, and watching Sebastian dig and plant, wearing nothing but trousers, boots and a linen shirt, the ties of which had become distractingly loose as he worked, revealing a surprising amount of chest hair, is proving to be its own reward. 

He’d obviously worn older clothes for the work, she thinks as she watches the play of muscles beneath the thin fabric. Sweet Andraste, archery and gardening do amazing things to men’s backs, she thinks idly. 

She looks up as Orana comes into the garden bearing a tray with two goblets and a pitcher of her wine punch, an amazing mix of white wine and fruit juices and now that spring is here early seasonal berries. It’s wonderful stuff, crisp and refreshing, and just perfect while sitting on a blanket in the gentle warmth of a spring afternoon. 

“Thank you, Orana.” She says, giving the girl a smile. She doesn’t know how she would have made it through her convalescence without her. 

Orana smiles shyly back, and leaving the tray retreats to back to the kitchen.

When she looks over at Sebastian, he’s straightening up, brushing the dirt from his hands as he gets to his feet. 

“Come have something to drink. You’re working far too hard.” She tells him as she pours the wine. 

He smiles at her and walks over, dropping down beside her. She hands him a goblet and he drinks it thirstily.

She loves seeing him like this. A little less than perfect, his hair mussed, a streak of dirt on his forehead where he’d wiped some perspiration away. But mostly she loves the smile on his face. He enjoys the work, he truly loves it. “So how long before it actually looks like an archway?” She asks.

He looks back at his work. “By midsummer you’ll be able to see the intention, but it won’t truly have the effect I want until next summer or the summer after.” 

“It takes patience, this gardening stuff.” She refills his goblet as she speaks.

“It does. And I think it’s only when you realize that, when you accept that it may take years to see the results of all your hard work, that you appreciate it.” He turns back to her with an easy smile taking the goblet she’s offering him. “I think that’s the lesson Elthina wanted me to learn when she put me to work in the garden when I first joined the Chantry.” 

“It’s to my benefit that she did. Thank you.”

“There’s no need. I enjoy the work.” He glances at the book in her hands. “What are you reading?”

“Poetry. I’m trying to expand my horizons. I’m not certain how well it’s working.”

He lifts the hand holding the book and looks at the spine. John Donne. “You don’t like it?” 

“He uses language beautifully, but I can’t say I care for his message. He’s awfully cynical about love. The one I’m reading right now for instance; he’s challenging someone to find a faithful woman, claiming it can’t be done.”

_Though she were true, when you met her,_

_And last, till you write your letter,_

_Yet she_ _Will be_ _False, ere I come, to two, or three._

“Some woman messed with his head and rather badly, I think.” She insists. “The whole poem reeks of sour grapes.”

Sebastian can’t help laughing at the sentiment. “You don’t know his story then?” 

She shakes her head.

“He was a notorious rake in his younger days, and then he met his wife and fell madly in love. His poems from those days are quite different.”

She rather likes the idea. “What happened to them?”

“They were happily married for some years and then she died, in childbirth I believe. He joined the Chantry and wrote mostly sermons, though some quite beautiful religious poetry as well.”

Maker, she thinks. Life makes it awfully hard to be a hopeless romantic. “I suppose he had his happily ever after for a little while.” She says grudgingly before she thrusts the book at him. “Show me one of the romantic poems.” She demands.

He takes the book and flips through until he finds the poem he’s looking for. “Read it to me.” He says as he hands it back to her. He lies back on the blanket, hands beneath his head, and closes his eyes as she begins to read in that rich, low, melodious voice.

_I wonder by my troth, what thou and I_

_Did, till we loved ? were we not wean'd till then ?_

_But suck’d on country pleasures, childishly?_

_Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers’ den?_

_’Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be;_

_If ever any beauty I did see,_

_Which I desired, and got, ‘twas but a dream of thee._

  


_And now good-morrow to our waking souls,_

_Which watch not one another out of fear;_

_For love all love of other sights controls,_

_And makes one little room an everywhere._

_Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone;_

_Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown;_

 _Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one._

  
_My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,_

_And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;_

_Where can we find two better hemispheres_

_Without sharp north, without declining west?_

_Whatever dies, was not mix’d equally;_

_If our two loves be one, or thou and I_

_Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die._

She’s quiet for a moment after she finishes. “ _For love all love of other sights controls/And makes one little room an everywhere._ ” She repeats. “It’s like that, isn’t it? This garden, this blanket here with you. It’s all the world I need.” 

His eyes open, and he pushes himself up so he’s resting on his elbows watching her. 

She blushes and looks down at the book not quite seeing it. It’s the closest she’s ever come to saying the words, to telling him she loves him, something they both know, but they’ve never actually said aloud. She’s afraid to look up at him. No, not afraid exactly, and not quite embarrassed, but a strange mixture of the two. 

He reaches out and takes her hand and presses a kiss to the palm. “It’s a perfect world. Just this.” He agrees. 

She looks up at him then and gives him a smile so brilliant, so real, and so filled with her love for him that it takes his breath away. She suddenly pushes him so he’s lying on his back again, and leans over him so their face are just inches apart. She doesn’t kiss him, and he’s surprised how disappointed he is by that. Instead she stares at him intently moving her head fractionally from side to side. A small frown appears on her face. 

“Ana?” he asks, uncertain as to just what it is she’s doing. 

She pulls back. “I was seeing if the other part of the poem was true. The eye thing.” 

He can’t think of what she means. “The eye thing?” He asks, his puzzlement plain. 

She picks up the book again, hers eyes scanning until she finds the lines she’s looking for. “ _My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears._ I thought it meant you could see your reflection in the other person’s eye. It doesn’t seem to work though.” She says, tossing the book to the blanket. She seems vaguely disappointed. 

He sits up, looking at the sky, seeing where the sun is and shifts on the blanket so that it’s shining directly at him. He reaches out and pulls her to him, lifting her leg so she’s straddling his lap and reaches out with both hands, pulling her head forward until their foreheads touch. He runs his fingers through her unbound hair pulling it back from her face. He can see his own reflection in those magnificent blue green eyes. 

He’s about to ask her if she can see his when he hears her softly exclaim. “Oh.” She reaches up so her fingers are tangled in his hair and whispers “ _My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears_ " She sounds awed.

He pulls back, just enough so that he can place a gentle kiss on each of her eyelids. “ _If ever any beauty I did see,/ Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee._ ” He recites, before he moves to kiss her full red lips.

She slides her arms around his neck, and his arms tighten around her and the kiss increases in intensity, until they’re both left breathless. 

“A reformed rake, who joined the Chantry, and was madly in love with his wife, huh?” She says resting her head on his shoulder, and nuzzling her face into his neck

If she got the order of those events wrong, he’s not going to mention it. “Yes.” He agrees, keeping his arms around her. 

He feels rather than sees her smile. “I think I would have liked him.” She says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh...formatting issues. I apologize, but this seems to be the best I can get it.
> 
> inspiration pictures and other Dragon Age related ramblings can be found here:
> 
> [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	3. Faire La Bise:  A Kiss on the Cheek (Sebastian Vael/Anabel Hawke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from the Kiss Prompt on tumblr by daria03, a kiss on the cheek between Anabel Hawke and Sebastian Vael.
> 
> Sebastian and Anabel attend a dinner party at the home of the Orlesian Ambassador. It takes place shortly after Emeric's funeral, between Chapters 10 and 11 of All That Might Be: Possibilities.

Sebastian left the Chantry just after dusk escort Anabel and her mother to the Orlesian ambassador’s. The Ambassador’s “little dinner party for fifty” had become one of the most sought after invitations of the season. Many of the nobles of Kirkwall were at home gnashing their teeth in frustration at not having been deemed important enough to make the final guest list.

Sebastian, as a Prince of Starkhaven, was of course included, and Hightown had no objection to that. Leandra’s invitation was tolerated; she was after all an Amell, daughter of that Aristide who had been a serious contender for Viscount. But that Hawke, a former mercenary who ran around Hightown in leather armor, frequented seedy taverns with seedier companions, and was the daughter of a mage, and an apostate at that, that she had been invited had ruffled more than a few feathers. 

Sebastian hadn’t been at all surprised. Since their introduction at the state dinner Anabel had become a favorite of the Ambassador. 

To his surprise when he reached the steps of the Keep he found Anabel standing there chatting with one of the guards, seemingly not noticing the incongruity of the picture – the guardsmen in his armor and the elegant Hightown noblewoman in her fine black velvet cloak, the white satin-lined hood pulled up and framing her face. She looked over as he approached and gave him a smile that lit up her whole face. “There you are. This is Liam.” She said indicating the guard, who had immediately shifted to attention again. “His father Bill is my gardener.”

“I know them both well.” Said Sebastian, turning to the guardsman. “How are you Liam?”

“I’m well, Brother Sebastian. Messere. Your Highness.” Liam stuttered.

“Brother Sebastian is fine, Liam. Your father’s doing well?” 

“Very well, Brother Sebastian. He was a bit down about having to retire from his work at the Keep, but then Hawke asked him if he would help her out with her garden, just a few days a week and he perked right up.” He gave Anabel a grateful look.

“Thank the Maker he did. I didn’t have the faintest idea of what I was doing. I think I have the opposite of a green thumb. What is that anyway? A brown thumb? A black thumb?” She turned back to Sebastian without waiting for Liam to answer. “Do we need to go, or are we supposed to be fashionably late?”

“If we leave now we should be fine.”

“Why is that a thing anyway? I’ve never understood it. You get an invitation with a specific time on it and if you show up at that time they look at you as if you’ve just spat in their food. It’s a noble thing you know. I never had this problem back in Lothering.” 

Sebastian just smiled. She was inclined to chatter before parties. He’d quickly realized that it was nerves. Chat with the Arishok? Battle demons summoned by a blood mage? She didn’t blink. Attend one of the social events of the season and she all but babbled the entire way there. “I believe it’s to allow the host or hostess some extra time in case anything has gone wrong with their preparations. Shall we go get Lady Amell?” Though he had never experienced Leandra being anything less the perfect noblewoman, Anabel made frequent off hand references to their many disagreements and he wondered if they’d quarreled and that was why Anabel was waiting outside in easy defiance of all the rules of proper etiquette.

“It’s just you and me tonight, I’m afraid.” Anabel said, not looking in the least bit upset about it. “Leandra’s got a cold, which of course means she was spending all her time picking me apart. I finally got fed up and came out here to wait for you. She might follow me all over the house nagging, but Lady Leandra Amell-Hawke would never dare venture out into Hightown with a red runny nose. I should have thought of it earlier in the evening.” She seemed delighted to have thought of it now. 

“Then I need to express my regrets that she won’t be accompanying us.” He said, taking her elbow and steering her back to the house.

“Or we could just go.” She suggested. At his serene but unyielding smile, she sighed. “Nobles. So bound up by rules.” She said to Liam. The guardsman looked back and forth between the two, uncertain of how to respond. 

Ten minutes later they were walking towards the Ambassador’s residence. Hawke was shaking her head “I just don’t get it. You knew Leandra wouldn’t see you, but you insisted on going in anyway.”

“It’s just proper etiquette, Anabel.”

“Like having to walk to my place to pick me up when it would have made much more sense for me to just meet you here in the plaza?”

“An escort is supposed to escort his companion. It’s self-explanatory.”

“Well that’s just silly. As if I’m not perfectly capable of walking that short a distance on my own.” 

“Has it occurred to you that I might like having you on my arm? That I enjoy showing you off, and spending the extra time with you.”

She blinked up at him as if it hadn’t occurred to her at all. “Oh. Well that’s different then.” She said, and her hand tightened on his arm. “Some of these other rules though...” Her voice trailed off.

“Like what?” He asked.

“Oh, the parading into dinner, and how everyone gets offended at who gets to go in first and who’s seated where. It’s not like musical chairs. Everyone will get a seat. Or all the women having to leave at the end of a meal so the men can relax and have a brandy or something and we’re shunted off to a sitting room with sherry and sickeningly sweet cordials. And you wouldn't believe the fuss they make when you ask for a shot of whiskey instead.” 

His mouth curved into a smile. “You didn’t really ask for whiskey, did you?” 

She gave him a mischievous grin. “Only once, when Leandra was being awful. You’ve no idea how dull it is though. It’s all talk of dresses and troublesome servants and catty remarks about whomever has dared to step out to “freshen up” as they so euphemistically put it.”

“And the conversation in the dining room is usually about horses and hounds and the latest import duties.”

“All right, that doesn’t sound much more interesting, but at least you have the good booze to get you through it.” 

They approached the stairs leading to the Ambassador’s residence. “You’ve spent time in Orlais, haven’t you?” She asked abruptly.

“Not recently but quite a bit when I was younger.” He replied, wondering why she brought it up.

“You might know then. What’s with the whole cheek kissing thing? The last time I saw the Ambassador he did this double cheek kissing thing and I thought Dulcie De Launcet was going to faint.”

The Ambassador had kissed her cheeks? “When was this?” He asked. Where had he been that he hadn’t noticed that? 

“That dinner party at the De Launcet’s a few weeks back. You were in Ostwick.”

He’d travelled there on business for the Grand Cleric. He’d asked Anabel how the dinner had gone and she’d said ‘fine’ and changed the subject. She’d never even mentioned the Ambassador. Realizing she was looking at him expectantly, he answered. “It’s an Orlesian custom. _Faire la bise_.”

She gave a small frown. “But that just means to kiss, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a kiss of greeting, a way of showing affection for someone. A double kiss. Sometimes even three kisses.”

“Scandalous.” She said with an amused smile. “But why would it have put the Comtesse and her gang into such a tizzy?”

Sebastian tried to think of how to put it. “There’s a certain familiarity implied in it.” Had it been merely that which had upset Dulcie De Launcet, or had something else happened, something that Anabel in her innocence had been unaware of?

“They don’t think I’m sleeping with him or anything like that?” Maker, that was just what she needed. Hightown already thought she was sleeping with most of her companions.

“No, not at all. It implies a familiarity born out of affection and approval and respect.” Usually.

“Oh. Well that was rather sweet of him then, I suppose. And it would explain the scandalized looks. Someone as important as the Ambassador approving of me.” She seemed rather pleased about it. 

Sebastian couldn’t help smiling. “He’s an intelligent man. How could he not?” 

“You’d have to ask the rest of Hightown. Not approving of me seems to be their favorite past time.” She said with a laugh as they walked through the door.

Sebastian unfastened his cloak and turned to help her with hers only to find that she’d already shrugged it off and passed it with a smile to the liveried servant.

He was quite literally speechless at the sight of her.

The gown she wore was simple, made of completely unadorned velvet that he thought for a moment was black but as she moved closer to the light he realized was actually a deep purple. The rich color made her skin glow in contrast. Daringly, the neckline left her shoulders bare so the gown ended up a mix of both Orlesian and Free Marcher fashion, and yet somehow uniquely Anabel. 

The dress would have been far too simple for an event as important as an embassy dinner but for two things: she’d taken his grandmother’s locket off the chain from which it normally hung and instead threaded it on a velvet ribbon that matched the dress and tied it so it rested just below the hollow of her throat framed by that perfect expanse of white skin, the purple of the amethysts on the locket brought out by the color of the dress and the ribbon. Even more startling, in defiance of current fashion she’d worn her hair loose, just the top section pulled back, the crown woven in an series of twists that then fell down her back, past her waist like a fiery waterfall.

She saw the expression on his face and misinterpreted it. “Leandra was right, wasn’t she? It’s too dowdy for this dinner?” She ran a worried hand over the front of the dress.

Dowdy? He thought, looking at the richness of the fabric, against the almost pearl like whiteness of her shoulders. “No, not at all.” He hastened to reassure her. “You look beautiful.” 

She didn’t seem to believe him. “No one’s seen us yet. I could run back and change into something frillier. It would make Leandra’s evening if I did.” She should have listened to Leandra. It wasn’t as if she knew anything about this stuff. She’d liked the simplicity of the dress, and the color. She should have known.

He could see the doubt on her face. “Anabel.” He said, taking a step closer to her so she had to tilt her. “You look exquisite. Startlingly beautiful.” He lifted one of her hands to his lips. “You quite take my breath away.” Not to mention the fact that he now had the desire to see her spread out on a swath of deep purple velvet wearing nothing but the locket, her bright hair loose around her. He offered a quick prayer for the strength to resist her, to keep her safe and uncorrupted. 

“Oh.” She said, uncertain how to respond. “Take your breath away in the good sense, I’m hoping.”

“Definitely in the good sense.” He agreed, offering her his arm.

The Ambassador saw them as soon as they entered the salon and immediately extricated himself from the eager group of nobles surrounding him. “Ah, Hawke. _Enfin_. Finally you arrive.” He leaned forward and kissed first one cheek and then the other in the Orlesian fashion and then took a step back. “Let me see.” He took her hands, holding them out at her side, examining her carefully. “As always _ma chere_ , you are perfection. Not a Hawke tonight, but _un phenix_.” 

She frowned not knowing the word. 

“A phoenix.” Sebastian supplied not understanding the sudden irritation he felt with the Ambassador. He’d always enjoyed the man’s company before now. Suddenly his behavior seemed overdone, flirtatious, suggestive almost. Too Orlesian by half.

“ _Precisement_.” Said the Ambassador. “A phoenix rising from the flames.” He reached out and gave a gentle tug on a bright curl by her cheek.

Anabel couldn’t help laughing at the metaphor, even as she blushed. “Now you’ve made me blush, Ambassador. And once I get started blushing there’s no stopping it.” The pink of her cheeks only made her look more lovely, almost ethereal.

“Edouard.” The Ambassador urged. “Ambassador is so … _comment dis-tu_? Stuffing?”

He was using the familiar _tu_ when he spoke to her. 

Anabel laughed again, which brought a smile to the Ambassador’s face. “I think stuffy is the word you're looking for.” 

“Stuffy, then. Like an old, dull man.”

Sebastian fought a sudden rush of jealousy. He couldn’t be jealous of the Ambassador. A middle aged Orlesian old enough to be Anabel’s father? He must be in his forties.

Only ten years older than he was, Sebastian realized and suddenly he felt ancient. She was so young. He sometimes forgot that. He forgot a great many things when she was around. 

She was far too young for a roué like the ambassador, he thought, ignoring the fact that until he’d seen the attention that the man was paying Anabel he’d rather liked him. He stepped closer placing a proprietary hand on the small of Anabel’s back. She looked up at him and smiled, before turning to greet Lady Reinhardt who had come up inquiring after Leandra’s whereabouts. Sebastian gave the ambassador a pointed look. The Ambassador met his eye with a small smile and inclination of his head as if acknowledging Sebastian’s claim. Sebastian inclined his head in return and turned to greet Lady Reinhardt.

Sebastian stayed by her side the whole of the evening, until dinner concluded and the ladies excused themselves, leaving the gentleman to their brandy. Anabel looked at him and rolled her eyes as they left the room. 

Anabel drifted into the salon with the rest of the ladies. She hated this part of the evening at these events. She had to admit it was even worse when Leandra wasn’t there. Her mother’s friends, after brief questions about Leandra’s health, ignored her. Their daughters seemed miffed when she drifted over to them and after one or two thinly veiled insults she left them. Ignoring the tray with cordials and sherry, she drifted over to the windows and stared out the city. She could see the Lowtown market and with that reference could pick out the building that housed the Hanged Man. She wondered what the others were doing. 

She’d been enjoying the evening up until now. Sebastian had escorted her and her mother to more than a dozen functions but this was the first one where it had been just the two of them together. She hadn’t expected it to feel so different but it did.

Sebastian had been by her side the whole evening, making certain she had enough to drink, that she was comfortable, taking care of her she realized. Taking care of her the way he had been since Emeric’s funeral. 

No one had ever done that. No one had ever paid such close attention to what she needed. No that was the wrong word. Not needed. No one had ever paid such close attention to what she wanted, and made such an effort to see that she had it. It made the evening feel quite different, gave it an almost fairy tale feeling. She couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips.

That was how Sebastian spotted her from the door to the salon. Removed from the rest of the group, but not unhappily so. It still made him burn with indignation on her behalf. He didn’t realize the Ambassador had come up beside him until the man spoke.

“It’s shameful how she is treated. In Orlais we would recognize if such a treasure appeared in our midst.”

Sebastian had to work to keep his tone even. “Some of us are well aware of it.”

“Ah.” Said the Ambassador. “Then you would do well to claim her, before someone else carries her off. _Bonne chance_ , Prince.” He moved into the room and went straight to Anabel's side.

Sebastian stared after him trying to ignore the jealousy he felt rising. He moved into the room, passing behind a small sofa where several of the younger ladies were sitting. He stopped in his tracks when he overheard what they were saying.

“Look at her.” Fifi De Launcet was saying. “I feel quite sorry for Lady Leandra. She dresses so beautifully and her daughter ignores everything that’s in style.”

Lorna Reinhardt nodded in agreement. “She should have had sense enough to bind up all that hair at the very least. Instead she’s flaunting it.”

“And the color.” Said Fifi’s sister, Babette. “It’s vulgar. If I’d been cursed with hair like that I would dye it.”

At that moment Anabel said something to the Ambassador that made him throw back his head, and let out a hearty laugh. 

The young ladies all scowled in a very unbecoming manner.

“I feel sorry for the Prince.” Babette said. “He escorts her to the party and she all but throws herself at the Ambassador. She thinks that fortune excuses any behavior.”

Lorna sniffed in agreement. “If her fortune’s all that big anyway, why does she always wear that old fashioned locket? She should get herself some decent jewelry.”

Sebastian had heard quite enough. No wonder Anabel hated this part of the evening. “Good Evening, ladies.” He watched as they started in surprise and fluttered and greeted him enthusiastically. He could see them wondering if he had overheard their catty remarks. 

“I can answer the question about Serrah Hawke’s locket if you like.” He informed them. “The locket is an heirloom. It’s quite valuable, though Anabel wears it for sentimental reasons.”

Lorna Reinhardt’s looked surprised. “An heirloom? You mean it belonged to the Amells?” She turned to look at Anabel and the locket again, as if trying to decide if she should revise her opinion of it.

“No, not the Amells.” He didn’t add anything more.

“But it couldn’t have been her father’s.” Said Fifi. “He was a penniless apostate.”

He spared her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, not the Hawkes either.”

They looked quite baffled. “But then who does it belong to.” Babette finally asked.

“The Vaels. The locket belonged to my grandmother, Meghan, a gift from my grandfather Prince Lachlan Vael on the occasion of their engagement. I gave it to Anabel. If you’ll excuse me, ladies.” He walked away. Let them make of that what they would. 

Sebastian didn’t leave Anabel’s side for the rest of the evening. When they departed, he watched, gritting his teeth, as the Ambassador placed kisses on each of Anabel’s cheeks. He seemed to take his time, drawing out the action.

They walked slowly back to her house, chatting idly, but Sebastian kept seeing the Ambassador pressing his mustachioed mouth to Anabel’s skin.

When they reached the door she smiled up at him. “I’d ask you in, but I’d never hear the end of it from Leandra if you chanced to see her all snuffly and red nosed.”

“Of course.” He murmured looking down at her. _You need to claim her before someone carries her off_. Had the Ambassador meant to imply that he himself would carry her off to Orlais? He frowned.

Sebastian had been awfully quiet since they’d left. “Are you all right?”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “Yes. I was just thinking about the Ambassador’s farewell to you.”

“ _Faire la bise_ , you called it.”

“Yes. I’m not certain it was as innocent as I thought. You might want to be careful around him.”

She stared at him. “You can’t think Edouard is interested in me?” She started to laugh. “He’s ancient! He must be Leandra’s age at least. And it was just a kiss on each cheek. How can that possibly show that he likes me, well, that way?”

Instead of answering, Sebastian moved closer and slid one large hand around the back of her neck, tilting her head up. The movement made her hood slide back revealing her bright curls. She stopped laughing and her eyes were suddenly huge.

He leaned down and pressed his lips lightly to her cheek, just where her dimple appeared, and then moved to her other cheek, his mouth passing hers so closely that she could feel the heat of his skin against hers. He brushed his lips against that cheek, but closer to the corner of her mouth this time, and then returned to the first cheek, his lips so close to hers now that she doubted a playing card could have slipped between them. The third kiss was placed almost, but not quite, on the corner of her mouth. Sebastian stayed there for a moment feeling the warmth of that velvety skin beneath his lips, savoring that delicate scent that was so uniquely Anabel, before slowly pulling back.

She swallowed hard. “Oh. Well, yes. That does show something a bit more than affection, approval and respect, doesn’t it?” 

He slowly let his hand slide from her neck, and took a step back from her. “Yes. Yes, it does.” 

She smiled then, reaching behind her for the door handle. “Good Night, Sebastian.”

“Good Night, Anabel.” He watched as she slipped through the door and closed it behind her. His mouth seemed to be tingling from touching her. It had taken every bit of willpower he had not to pull her close and crush her mouth beneath his, to taste that sweetness and feel the touch of her tongue against his.

He’d been so convinced he could resist the temptation she offered, and here he stood after the simplest of kisses, not at all certain that he was going to be able to do so.

He turned from the door and started walking determinedly back to the Chantry.

He needed to pray. He needed to pray a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> style pictures and pose references, as well as various Dragon Age related ramblings are on my tumblr: [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	4. A Goofy Kiss or Three Quarters of an Hour, Three Kisses and Some Whipped Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested by pixelatrix: a goofy kiss between Anabel Hawke and Sebastian Vael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place shortly after Sebastian and Anabel have made love (finally) for the first time.

For the first time in four days they’d actually left the house.

It had been at Anabel’s insistence. Sebastian would have been perfectly happy not leaving the house. He would have been perfectly happy not leaving the bed.

“I need fresh air and sunshine.” She’d insisted, laughing as he wrapped an arm around her pulling her back towards the massive four poster. 

He’d buried his face in her neck and bitten down lightly, making her shiver. “If you’re very good, I’ll take you down to the garden afterwards for five or ten minutes.”

“A whole ten minutes?” she asked. “How generous.”

His hands slid around to cup her breasts. “Perhaps longer even.” He said softly at her ear. “I’ve been imagining taking you bent over that table for years.”

Her heart skipped a beat and she couldn’t help smiling. “Have you now?”

He caught her earlobe between his teeth. “Mmmmhmm.”

For a moment he could see her wavering. 

“No.” She said resolutely . “I want to go to the market. I want to be in a crowd of people, just for a little while.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “A quarter of an hour.”

“One hour and lunch at that Antivan place.” She countered.

“Twenty minutes and a pastry to go.”

“Three quarters of an hour, and coffee and a pastry at a sidewalk café.”

“Half an hour and some whipped cream to go.” He suggested.

She gave a confused frown. “Why would I… oh…” Her cheeks were suddenly bright pink and he laughed delighted that after three days of near constant lovemaking he could still make her blush. 

“Three quarters of an hour and the whipped cream, then.” 

“Three quarters of an hour, the whipped cream, and you have to kiss me whenever I ask.” 

She was about to agree when she saw the gleam in his eyes. He’d always been so circumspect, so proper.

He hadn’t been very proper at all the last three days, and she wasn’t quite sure how that translated to his behavior in public. Her eye narrowed as she considered it. “Three quarters of an hour, the whipped cream and three kisses: one for each quarter of an hour.” She finally said. Certainly that couldn’t scandalize Hightown too much. 

His mouth curved into a satisfied smile that made her vaguely uneasy. “Deal.” He said.

 

They left the mansion and walked down to the market, her hand tucked in the crook of his arm. Sebastian behaved as he always did, smiling, polite, and perfectly proper for Hightown. Perhaps she had worried unnecessarily. 

They stopped by Korval’s to look for a birthday gift for Aveline. He had a longsword he called Perrin’s Nail; it was a beautiful weapon, but she couldn’t quite decide if it was too elaborate for Aveline’s taste. She turned to Sebastian. “What do you think?”

“Kiss me.” He told her.

She didn’t know who was more surprised, she or Korval. 

Sebastian just looked at her expectantly.

Feeling her face growing warm, she walked over to him and going up the tips of her toes pressed a light kiss to his lips. He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closer, deepening it. One hand went to the back of her head as his tongue thrust into her mouth, and his lips crushed hard against hers, almost too hard.

Almost. 

She couldn’t help the small moan she let out. Her hands fluttered up to touch him, and he let go of her so abruptly that she had to grab hold of Korval’s display table to prevent herself from falling.

Sebastian just smiled and walked away to the next vendor. 

She couldn’t help running her tongue over her still tingling lips, wondering if they looked as puffy as they felt. She turned back to Korval and cleared her throat. “Put it aside for me for now, Korval. I’ll let you know in a day or so.”

Korval looked like he was trying very hard not to smile. “Of course Champion. You’ve got other things on your mind now.” 

She mumbled something and walked to join Sebastian who was casually examining the armor at Olaf’s stand. “I can’t believe you did that right in front of him.” She muttered.

“I?” He said, raising an eyebrow. “It was you who kissed me, as I recall.” 

“Yes, but you’re the one who made it…who kissed back...” 

He was smiling knowingly down at her.

She scowled at him.

They wandered through the market. Anabel was wary, waiting for the next request. 

It came soon enough, as she perused a table of ribbons and shawls.

“Kiss me.”

She immediately tensed up. She turned and walked over to him and started to go up on her toes but this time he bent to meet her kiss. She braced herself for the forcefulness of the last kiss, but it didn’t come. This kiss was gentle, coaxing, and she couldn’t help but respond, nibbling, tasting, just teasing touches of lips and tongue. She was only dimly aware of his backing her up against the display table and then lifting her up so she sat on it. His hands reached up, one to curve around her neck, and one to rest between her shoulder blades as he gently lowered her so she lay on the table, on the shawls and ribbons. 

And then he let her go, and just walked away.

Again. 

She scrambled to her feet, making a mess of the formerly neatly displayed items. “Sorry.” She mumbled. A few nearby noblewomen were staring and talking in hushed voices. Anabel fumbled at her purse for some coins, passing them to the proprietress. “For your trouble.”

Like Korval, the woman working here seemed to be working hard to hide her smile. She shook her head, refusing the coin. “I remember being newly married, Champion. I imagine when you’ve a husband who looks like that it’s all the harder to keep your hands off him.”

She blushed and smiled, and then stalked away to join her husband. “You wretch.” 

He looked mildly surprised. “Is something wrong?”

“I agreed to kisses, not public humiliation.“ 

“Actually, I don’t think you specified.” 

She gave him an exasperated look. “It’s all well and fine for you, as far as anyone in Hightown is concerned you can do no wrong. I’m the one everyone is judging. I can just hear them: she may have landed a prince, but she’s still that same scandalous girl who doesn’t have any idea how to behave, making a spectacle of herself in the Hightown Market.” She turned and stalked away.

Sebastian stared after her. He hadn’t intended to upset her. He looked around the market and saw the very nobles she’d mentioned, whispering among themselves, staring openly at Anabel, who had stopped in front of Isabela’s favorite hat shop. 

He could fix this, he thought walking resolutely towards her.

Anabel didn’t even know why she had stopped here. She didn’t even like hats. She particularly didn’t like these hats, which were ridiculously over-adorned with braid and ribbon and bows. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sebastian walk up beside her. She tossed down the hat she’d been holding, a particularly hideous one; all different shades of pink, with dyed feathers and a enormous pink velvet rose plastered on the side, and deliberately turned away pretending to look at a different hat. After a moment she sensed Sebastian come up behind her.

“Kiss me.” He said softly.

She didn’t turn her head. 

“We said three kisses, Ana. Kiss me. It’ll be worth it, I promise.” He coaxed.

She turned her head to look at him, and burst out laughing. 

He’d put on the hat she’d discarded. Not just put it on, but put it on at a rakish angle, tying the bow on the side of his face so it brushed against his cheek. He looked….absolutely ridiculous. 

He grinned down at her. “Kiss me.” He pursed his lips into an exaggerated pout, and as if that weren’t enough, he crossed his eyes. 

Still laughing she went up on her toes. The minute her lips touched his he blew a loud raspberry against them making her laugh all over again. She draped her arms around his neck. “Sometimes I think you’re quite mad, you know. It’s rather surprising.”

He smiled back, glad to have made her laugh. “So have you had your fill of crowds? Can I take you home and have my way with you?” 

She untied the ribbon of the hat and pulled it off his head, tossing it back onto the table. “One more stop.” She told him.

He groaned. “What could you possibly still need to get?”

She gave him a catlike smile. “Whipped cream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference pictures, as well as Dragon Age related ramblings are on my tumblr: [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	5. A Collarbone Kiss (Sebastian Vael/Annie Hawke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> championspectre requested a collarbone kiss between Anne Hawke and Sebatian Vael from A Happy Accident, my modern day car accident AU.

Sebastian had spent most of his day deliberating about whether or not he should make love to Anabel Hawke for the first time tonight. 

He’d gone through the reasons against it:

She was far too young.

She was far too innocent (a virgin at the age of twenty-three. It didn’t seem possible in this day and age). Compared to her he was positively debauched, in spite of the fact he’d all but sworn off women the last few years.

He’d only known her a few weeks. Granted, it had been a whirlwind of a few weeks, he thought with a smile.

As they walked into the dimly lit restaurant and were escorted to their table, one of several high walled booths specifically designed to give a feeling of intimacy and privacy, he couldn’t help but think of all the reasons in favor of it.

But in the end what decided it wasn’t her flaming red hair, worn loose, and straightened again for the first time since the day they’d met, swinging gently at the small her back as she walked ahead of him.

It wasn’t the sight of her surprisingly long legs, bare and silky smooth, or her slender feet in the exquisitely high heels she wore.

It wasn’t even that flash of pale skin at her midriff that the dress she wore revealed as she turned to smile at him as she slid into the booth.

It wasn’t her rich red mouth with its absurdly full upper lip.

It wasn’t those luminous eyes that were blue and green at the same time, or the way they made him feel when they focused on him, showing every emotion she felt, with no guile at all.

It wasn’t how many times she made him laugh over the course of the evening, or the fact that he could talk with her about literally anything and have an intelligent and fascinating conversation.

Oh, all of these things were part of it.

But in the end it was the candlelight playing off the curve of her collarbone as she perused the dessert menu. In the end it was that delicate graceful line, perfectly framed by the scooped neckline of the dress she wore. In the end it was the overpowering desire he had to trace that line with kisses, with tongue and with teeth, the need to press his lips to the small hollow at the base of her throat that decided it for him. 

He lifted his eyes to find her watching him with a small smile on her face. 

“You have the strangest expression on your face.” She informed him. “What are you thinking about?” 

He smiled and reached out to take her hand between his. “I’m thinking about making love to you.”

A hint of color came to her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “Anything specific or just generally considering it?”

He couldn’t help laughing. “Some quite specific things, actually.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Come home with me. Stay the night.”

Another woman might have pretended to be shy, might have been coy or have feigned reluctance.

Anabel Hawke just smiled at him, not bothering to hide her happiness or the desire in her eyes. “Oh, yes. Yes, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> photo/style references can be found on my tumblr
> 
>  
> 
> [A Happy Accident photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/a+happy+accident)


	6. A Romantic Kiss (Kaidan Alenko/Ophelia Shepard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ecargcitlec requested a romantic kiss between Kaidan Alenko and Ophelia Shepard from my Come Back Home series. It takes place just after Udina has grounded the Normandy.

After he stores his gear, Kaidan goes looking for Shepard. She hadn’t spoken a word since Udina had informed her that the Normandy was grounded, but Kaidan had seen her clenching her jaw the entire trip back to the Normandy. He’s just heading to her cabin when he sees her by her storage locker. 

“Come on you stupid thing.” He hears her mutter as she reenters her code. The lock beeps in protest. “Come on!” She says, louder this time. Again the beep. “Fuck, come on you godamn piece of shit thing!” She slams her hand against it, and kicks it hard enough to leave a dent. “Fucking asshole locker. Open dammit.” She is shouting now and it’s so unlike the Shepard he has come to know that he runs over to stop her. She sees him and slides down to the floor leaning against the offending locker. 

“I think my locker works for Udina. “ She glares at it. “Fucking worthless piece of shit.”

He’s never even heard her swear before. “There must be some way to appeal the decision. Someone we can talk to.”

She just shakes her head. “I called everyone I could think of. Pushed as hard as I could. No one will even listen. Official channels are closed.”

He just shakes his head “So where do you think the best view will be when the Reapers roll through?”

“We lost the battle not the war. I’ll think of something. ” In spite of her words, she closes her eyes and leans her head back. She looks exhausted; absolutely drained.

Kaidan hates seeing her like this. “I know you will, Shepard. That’s what I lo – appreciate about you.” Shit. Just once he wishes he could play it cool with her.

Her eyes stay closed but a small smile curves her lips. “Galaxy in the balance and you trip talking to me.”

He can’t help smiling. “I just need a little practice is all. Looks like we’ll have some time for that, at least.”

She opens her eyes looking surprised at the realization, but pleasantly surprised. “Looks like we do.” 

He offers a hand to help her to her feet, and after a moment’s hesitation she takes it. He pulls her up, a little more enthusiastically than was necessary, and she falls against him. His arms go automatically around her to keep her upright. Their faces are so close that he can feel her breath against his skin. He can’t help leaning in closer…

“There’s a message for you, Commander.” Joker’s voice makes them both start.

Shepard doesn’t take her hands from Kaidan’s chest and instead of pulling away she leans closer so her forehead is resting against Kaidan’s cheek. “Let’s hear it.” She says.

“Anderson called. He wants you to meet him at that club, Flux, right away.”

“Thanks, Joker.”

Kaidan’s the first one to step away. “Well I guess you better go then.” 

She raises and eyebrow. “You’re coming with me Alenko. Change into some civilian clothes —club appropriate attire. We don’t want to call any more attention to ourselves than we have to.”

Kaidan does as she asks and waits for her at the airlock. There’s a sudden hush from the CIC and he turns to see what’s causing it. When he does his mouth falls open, though he quickly closes it.

Shepard’s walking towards the airlock, nonchalantly fastening large silver hoop earrings in her ears. She’s released her dark hair from the tight bun it’s normally in, and it hangs down her back, thick and straight reaching almost to her waist. But what’s truly startling, what’s making almost everyone in the CIC stare is what she’s wearing: an Asari gown, high citadel style, absolutely form fitting with cutouts at the waist and hips, and down the front revealing so much seemingly perfect smooth olive skin that you can’t help wonder how the dress remains structurally sound, or if it truly is

She seems oblivious to the stares. As she passes Pressley she calls out, “Walk with me Pressley.” She gives him instructions as the head to the airlock and to his credit, Pressley seems to take it all in, though his eyes can’t help occasionally drifting to the skin the Commander is suddenly showing. “Dismissed, Pressley.” 

How she manages to still sound like a military commander while dressed like the consort is impressive. She reaches Kaidan’s side and arches an eyebrow.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” She’s wearing makeup, he realizes. Smoky grey shadow, and blush and her lips are painted a deep red. He’s never seen her wear anything other than a clear gloss. He never realized just how sexy those lips were. He manages to tear his eyes away from them.

“No ma’am. Sorry. Just not quite clear how this outfit isn’t going to call attention. Ma’am.” He can’t help grinning. 

She looks a little worried and runs a hand down the dress. “Ah. I thought hiding in plain sight might work. I borrowed it from Liara. It’s a little more snug then I had anticipated. Too much?”

His eyes flicker over the exposed flesh. “No ma’am. Just right I think. I don’t think anyone will recognize you. I’m not sure I would recognize you. It’s a very different look.”

When they’re outside Flux she suddenly turns to him. “I need you to do something, Kaidan, and it’s a little awkward coming from a commanding officer.”

He frowns, not certain where she’s heading.

“If we’re trying to blend in at Flux, I thought it would be advantageous if we acted like… well, like a couple.” She can feel herself blushing and she tilts her head forward so that her hair covers her face and hopefully hides it. Dammit. She really hoped to make it through that without blushing.

“A couple of what ma’am?”

She looks at him in surprise and sees he’s smiling.

“I’m kidding, Shepard. Sure. I can do that.” 

Kaidan can’t help wincing at the noise when they walk into Flux. They spot Anderson almost immediately, sitting at one of the tables, talking to a c-sec officer. He catches sight of them and gives the briefest shake of his head. 

Shepard takes Kaidan’s arm and steers him towards an empty table near the bar. They’ve just placed their order when some voices from the next table drift over.

“I’m telling you that’s her. That’s Shepard. That’s the first human spectre.” She chances a glance at the table. A group of Alliance soldiers, barely out of their teens, if she had to guess their ages. She quickly turns back, shifting in her seat so she’s facing towards Kaidan and away from them.

“No way. Have you seen the vids of her? She’s buttoned up tighter than a Quarian in an enviro-suit. She wouldn’t be caught dead in an outfit like that. No way is that hot piece of ass Shepard.” She sees Kaidan frown, and she puts her hand on his knee, squeezing a warning. The frown disappears, and his face is carefully neutral.

“I’m telling you, it’s her. Picture the hair twisted back and all the makeup off.”

“A body like that and you’re looking at her face?”

“Just do it, man. I’m telling you, it’s her.”

Shepard curses under her breath. “Right. Sorry, Kaidan. I didn’t mean for it to be like this.” She says, sounding genuinely regretful.

Before he can ask her why, she’s slid off her chair and onto his lap. She reaches over and trails her hand down the side of his face pressing her body against his in a blatantly sexual way that he can’t help but respond to. She catches his upper lip between hers, nibbling gently.

He can only sit there, letting her, seemingly paralyzed by what she’s doing, His heart is pounding and the scent and taste of her is almost overwhelming. Her lips burn a trail of kisses along his jaw to his ear.

“Kaidan.” She whispers, as she slides one hand beneath his jacket. “Here’s where it would be good if you kissed me or touched me back.” 

Good? It sounds like the best idea in the world. Something like a growl comes from deep inside him and he slides his hands into her hair, forcing her mouth back to his. He kisses her roughly, insistently, and she responds in kind. He moves one hand to her waist, feeling the heat of her skin.

“Whoa.” He hears dimly from the next table. “I take it back. No way would someone as uptight as Shephard do that in a club.” 

“I told you, man.”

Shephard tears her mouth from his and sinks her teeth lightly into his earlobe. He hears one of the Alliance soldier mutter. “Damn.”

Another chimes in. “Screw this. Let’s go to Chora’s Den.” There’s a chorus of assent and the group leaves.

For a moment Shepard stays where she is, her teeth still holding his ear. Slowly she releases it, but he could swear her tongue briefly touches his earlobe as she does. “Anderson’s free now.” She whispers, and moves away from him, heading to Anderson’s table. 

Suddenly, in spite of the gown and the hair and the makeup, in spite of the fact her tongue was just in his mouth, Commander Shepard is back. 

Their conversation with Anderson is brief and to the point. Reasoning that taking on Udina is simpler than potentially taking on all of c-sec, the decision is made for Anderson to head to the Ambassador’s office. Shepard and Kaidan will go straight back to the Normandy and be ready to leave as soon as Anderson’s done his job. 

“Good Luck Shepard.” Anderson says.

“You too, sir.” She pushes away from the table, and gets to her feet.

“And Shepard?” 

She turns to him, expectantly. 

He smiles suddenly. “Nice outfit.” 

She flashes him an easy grin that most people never see from her. “Thank you, sir. I’m thinking of wearing it to my court martial.”

They rush to get back to the Normandy. As usual the elevator in C-sec takes forever; forever to get there, and even longer once they’re inside it.

Shepard glances over at Kaidan. His face is inscrutable, but she can guess what he’s thinking. They’re going to steal the Normandy. Even she can’t quite wrap her head around the implications of it. “Kaidan, I know what I’m asking goes well beyond the call of duty. I’m not going to force anyone’s hand. If anyone has any doubts they’ll be able to leave the ship. That includes you.”

He gives her a reproachful look. “Shepard, you’re not going anywhere without me.” 

She can’t help a relieved smile. “I’m glad. Something is bothering you, though.” It’s not a question

He gives her a considering look. “Yeah.”

She straightens up, bracing herself for whatever it might be. “Okay. Hit me.”

“What did you mean when you said ‘I didn’t want it to be like this’? What were you talking about?”

She blinks at him as if the answer is obvious. “Our first kiss.” 

“You’ve been thinking about our first kiss?” He asks, just to make sure he heard that right.

She actually blushes, and it’s so out of character for her that he can’t help smiling.

“Maybe.” She admits. “A little. A lot. I know, there are regs…” She looks up at him and her voice trails off. He’s wearing that crooked little half smile she loves so much, but she’s not sure what it means here. As much as he’s gone on about regulations, she’d have thought he’d be worried or upset by the idea.

He seems pleased. Happy even.

That has to be good, doesn’t it?

When he sees how flustered she is the smile broadens. “So, just so I’ve got all the facts, ma’am, how did you imagine our first kiss?” That whiskey rough voice is teasing and, his eyes are warm.

And now she doesn’t know where to look. “Christ, Alenko. I don’t know. Romantic, I guess. Gentle at first…and then maybe not so gentle. But definitely not in the middle of an overcrowded nightclub, and definitely not as part of a mission.”

Kaidan steps closer to her, sliding his hands around the bare skin of her waist. It’s as warm and smooth as before, and he has a sudden newfound appreciation of Asari fashion. He pulls her slowly towards him, and she lets him until they’re only inches apart. His eyes travel over her face, lingering on her lips. He brings his eyes back to hers and then he smiles. “Can I kiss you, Ophelia?”

She stares at him for a minute, and there’s a flash of something in her eyes, hope or pleasure – it’s gone before he can quite decide what. She nods her head, but doesn’t speak. 

He leans forward and kisses her, and it’s nothing like before. His lips are soft at first, just gentle brushes of his mouth against hers, light and teasing. He continues that way until she makes a small impatient noise, and tries to press closer. Only then does he deepen the kiss, running his tongue lightly against her lips, able to savor the taste of her in a way he couldn’t at Flux, and she gives a soft moan. Her hands reach up to curve around his neck and pull him closer, opening her mouth and sliding her own tongue against his. His hands tighten on her waist, but she’s the one who leans in closer, who increases the pressure, until it’s all lips and tongue and teeth, all tasting and exploring. She’s the one who makes it more urgent; she’s the one who makes it not so gentle.

There’s a subtle change in the speed of the elevator and Kaidan realizes they’ve finally arrived at the Normandy’s docking bay. One final press of his mouth to hers, and he pulls back. Her eyes are dark with passion, the pupil almost swallowing up the grey blue of her irises, and he knows his are probably the same. They’re both breathing harder.

The elevator comes to a stop. 

“Was that more the way you imagined it?” He asks her as they wait for the doors to open.

Shepard’s lips curve into a smile that’s almost girlish, and for a moment he thinks he sees a glimpse of the carefree girl she must have been before the raid on Mindoir. 

“Yeah. Definitely more like that.” She can’t help leaning in for one more nibble on his upper lip before reluctantly pulling away. “Right. Stealing the Normandy now.” She’s straightens up and when the doors opens Commander Shepard is back. She strides out of the elevator and towards the airlock, and he’s following right behind her.

He can’t imagine a situation where he wouldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> photo inspirations and other Mass Effect related things can be found on my tumblr: [Come Back Home inspiration/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/Come+Back+Home)


	7. A Collarbone Kiss (Alistair Theirin/Nell Cousland)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> missmeggo929 requested Nell & Alistair from Battle Maiden, and a collarbone kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This became unexpectedly angsty, and only a bit fluffy. Also a potential trigger warning for descriptions of what happened at Highever Castle the night Howe attacked.

Sleeping next to Alistair by the campfire quickly becomes a habit, and Nell’s not quite sure what that means.

It started almost accidentally, when she’d had a nightmare about the night Howe attacked, and stumbled out of her tent needing light and air and somebody to be near, anybody. That it was Alistair that was on watch was a blessing she realized later. 

Leliana would have been sympathetic but would have invoked the Maker’s name a few to many times for Nell’s comfort. 

Zevran would have suggested sex to banish the memories and though it would have made her laugh (and she would have turned him down) it wouldn’t have helped, and it certainly wouldn’t have banished the memories. 

Wynne would probably have come up with some story or allegory about parents or loss or bad dreams that wouldn’t have helped at all with the fact that she was scared and lonely and missed her home and her family more than she had ever thought possible. 

Sten wouldn’t have said anything, but she would have been able to feel the disappointment rolling off him in waves at what he would no doubt perceive as a womanly weakness and yet another reason women shouldn’t be warriors or leaders. 

But Alistair…

From the very first time she’d stumbled out of her tent, bathed in a cold sweat, trembling and vaguely nauseous from the reminders of screams and blood and dead bodies, both real and imagined he’d offered an ear if she wanted to talk, idle commentary and stories if she just wanted to listen, or quiet companionship if she didn’t want to do either, but most of all when she’s with him there’s absolutely no pressure to be anything but herself, and no judgment about being strong or weak. 

And sometimes when he thinks she’s fallen asleep he’ll reach out a hand and gently stroke her hair or her back, only lately she’s pretty sure he knows that she’s not asleep and he does it anyway. 

And then one night she stumbles out after a particularly horrible nightmare and finds it’s Sten on watch, not Alistair, and she doesn’t even hesitate, just turns and goes to his tent, pushing aside the flap and crawling in. 

“Alistair.” She whispers.

He doesn’t answer.

 _Oh please wake up, please_. “Alistair.” She says it louder, and her voice cracks, and she’s afraid she’s going to start crying right there if he doesn’t wake up and distract her from the pictures in her head. She doesn’t know if it’s the darkness of the tent or the particularly vile dream, but she can’t stop the images this time and she’s starting to actually shake. She tries to say his name again, but now she actually is crying and all that comes out is a harsh sob.

And for some reason that wakes him up. He sits upright, and the blanket that was covering him falls, revealing he’s not wearing a shirt. She can see the necklace he wears from his joining. She doesn’t wear hers, just keeps it in her pack. She doesn’t feel any affinity for these wardens and if she’s going to wear anything to remember those who went before us it would be something for her parents or Oren or Oriana, or Nan, or any of the hundreds who must have died that night, too many to list but few enough that she can see every face. 

Alistair squints into the darkness. “Nell?” 

She can’t even answer now, not without sobbing, and she can’t do that, so she doesn’t say anything. 

Luckily for her once his eyes adjust to the darkness he can easily figure out what the problem is. “Bad dream?” 

All she can is nod. Tears are streaming down her face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, the way he does every time.

She starts to shake her head to say no, but suddenly she does, suddenly she doesn’t think she can keep it in for a minute longer, but she still doesn’t know how to let it out and she’s afraid to speak or move or even breathe. All she can do is stare at him.

Alistair is starting to look a little alarmed and she can’t say she blames him. “I’m getting Wynne.” He mutters and pushes aside his covers. 

That makes her breathe again. “No!” She manages to gasp out. She grabs his arm.

He stops and looks at her expectantly. 

She tries to think of how to even begin and she can’t. It just a series of images: Oren’s broken body, Oriana’s tossed on the ground beside him, her throat slit. Aldous, dear Aldous, his robes soaked with blood. The expression on Rory Gilmore’s face when he looked at her before running to hold the gates against Howe’s men. Nan, lying on the floor of the kitchen her skull strangely misshapen from a mace or the hilt of a sword. And her father, his face grey with pain, or blood loss, lying in an ever expanding crimson circle, her mother beside him holding him in her arms telling her to live as Duncan all but pushed her out the hidden entrance. 

The tears are streaming down her face now and she still can’t think of how to start. She looks beseechingly at Alistair as if he’ll know what to do.

And strangely he does, reaching over and pulling her half into his lap and holding her close, wrapping those massive arms around her. “Cry, Nell.” He tells her. “Just cry.”

And she does. Maker, does she cry. She doesn’t know for how long, but it feels like hours and Alistair just holds her through all of it, occasionally wiping at her face with what she thinks is his shirt. Finally she stops, feeling strangely numb, physically and mentally. He strokes her hair and says softly, “Tell me what happened.” And somehow because he didn’t make it a question this time, she can.

The story pours out of her, everything, every image that’s been haunting her for weeks now. He doesn’t say anything, or offer any platitudes, or even make sympathetic noises. He’s just there listening as she leans against his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart and he feels as solid and dependable as a stone wall, something she can shelter in or against.

When she finishes speaking, he says simply. “Howe will pay, Howe and Loghain and all the others. We’ll make sure of it.” 

And because he made her a part of it she believes him. “Yes.” She agrees. And then maybe she can live the way her mother wanted her to.

He looks down at her. “You think you can sleep now?”

She hesitates. “Could I stay here?” She feels him tense up. “I promise, I’m in no state to ravish you.” She says, trying to reassure him. She doesn’t want to leave him. For the first time since that night she feels safe, and she doesn’t think it’s that she finally cried or finally talked about it, she thinks it’s the warmth of the chest she’s leaning against, and the strength of those arms, but most of all it’s him, Alistair, who in spite of the faults he might have, possesses probably the kindest heart she’s ever encountered. When he still doesn’t answer she adds a soft. “Please.”

And that’s all it takes. “Sure.” He says, and she knows he’s trying to be nonchalant about it. “You don’t snore or steal the covers, do you?”

She actually laughs which she thinks surprises them both. “Not that I’ve ever been told.” 

“Right. First sign of either and you’re back in your own tent.” He warns. He takes his arm from around her and tries to straighten out his bedding. “I’ve only got the one pillow. We could flip a coin for it I suppose.” 

“You can have it, if I can borrow your chest for the night.” She offers. 

He looks completely perplexed. 

“As a pillow.” She explains. 

He grins suddenly. “Just like all the rest. Only want me for my body.”

“And only your chest at that.” She says, amazed to find that she’s joking.

“Typical.” He says, sliding under the covers. He looks up at her. “Well come on. You might not, but some of us do need our beauty sleep.”

He holds up the covers so she can slide beneath them. She climbs in and after some small awkwardness of where arms and hands go she’s settled with her head on his shoulder and her hand resting just over his heart: the steady thump is comforting. His arm is around her resting on her shoulder, but he keeps moving it as if that’s not quite comfortable. 

She's already half asleep. “My waist.” She suggests.

He tenses up again. “Sorry?”

She doesn’t repeat herself, just reaches up and moves his hand so it’s resting on her waist. She strokes it once and then puts her hand back where it was, feeling for and finding that heartbeat again. 

She’s almost asleep when she hears him say softly. “This is nice.”

Her mouth curves into a smile. “Mmm.” She agrees. She knows she should say more, should thank him or something but she’s just too tired. Instead she turns her head and places a gentle kiss on his collarbone, before snuggling against him and finally drifting off. 

Alistair’s thumb strokes along her waist. He’s sleeping with a woman. Maybe not the way he thought he would, or not the way everybody talks about.

He thinks this might actually be better.


	8. A Jealous Kiss (Anabel Hawke & Sebastian Vael)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> missmeggo929 requested a jealous kiss Anabel & Sebastian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place about five months after Sebastian and Anabel’s marriage. Yes, they’re still celibate and it’s becoming increasingly difficult for both of them.

Seneschal Bran seemed to have been waiting for her. “You’re late, Champion.” He snapped. “Late to a reception for the new ambassador from Orlais. What sort of an impression will that make?”

Anabel just raised an eyebrow, as she shrugged off her cloak. “A better one than if the new ambassador from Orlais were attacked by blood mages as he made his way to his residence?” She offered. 

She’d been meeting and corresponding with Bran fairly regularly since the wedding, discussing politics and Kirkwall, and Kirkwall politics in particular. Though neither had said the words out loud there was a tacit understanding between them: he was willing to teach her how to be viscount and she was willing to learn what he offered. 

The Seneschal’s disapproval softened just a bit. “More blood mages.” He said shaking his head, taking her cloak and passing it to a servant. His eyes went over her. Her dress was a deep blue silk that brought out the blue of her eyes, stylish without being ostentatious or immodest. Her hair was pulled back into an elaborately braided chignon. The sapphire earring Sebastian had given her on First Day dangled from her ears accentuating the long line of her neck, as well as her delicate cheekbones. Bran nodded his approval. “Yes. Perhaps a bit more trim the next time, but this will do.”

Anabel rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet you never told Viscount Dumar what to wear.”

“He was a man. Like it or not as a woman you are judged not just on your abilities but on your appearance.” He said as he ushered her into the reception room. 

“That sucks.” She muttered.

“Language.” Snapped Bran.

“Sorry.” She looked around the room for Sebastian. She’d sent him on ahead, so at least one of them was there on time. She saw him almost immediately, across the room and couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips. Maker he was beautiful. Beautiful and hers, even if they didn’t have sex she thought, wondering for probably the thousandth time how it was possible to miss something so badly that you’d never even had. He was talking to one of the Orlesian ladies who had her hand resting lightly on his arm and was standing close beside him. Very close beside him.

Anabel frowned. “Who’s that Sebastian’s talking to?” She asked Bran, knowing he would have the answer.

“Baronesse Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour. A cousin of the new ambassador.”

Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour was tall, downright statuesque really, and blonde with rich peachy skin and a generous bosom which her white and gold Orlesian gown showed off to great advantage.

And her hand was still on Sebastian’s arm. 

Anabel felt an unfamiliar curl of jealousy in the pit of her stomach. 

_Well that was new._

Sebastian had never given her cause to be jealous before. He’d always been entirely focused on her and though other women had done their best, he’d never paid more than polite attention to them, and certainly never responded to their overtures. He threw back his head suddenly and laughed. She knew him well enough to be able to tell if his laugh were genuine, and this one was. 

Apparently Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour was amusing as well as beautiful.

And then Sebastian reached out and covered the woman’s hand with his own. 

It might not have bothered Anabel so much if not for the fact that over the last few weeks Sebastian had almost completely stopped touching her, as if he was preparing for that time when they openly announced their chaste marriage and made their vows to the Chantry. 

That was an inevitability that she’d known she would have to deal with, and Maker she hated it more every day, and she missed the touches more every day, but she had resigned herself to it. Almost.

But to see him bestowing on another woman what he was denying her… her frown deepened. “Excuse me.” She said abruptly, and headed towards her husband, ignoring Bran’s hissed “You need to greet the new ambassador first.” 

Sebastian turned as he saw her approaching and smiled. He’d removed his hand, but Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour’s elegant fingers still lingered on his arm. Anabel smiled back though it felt strained. She turned to look at the other woman.

Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour was looking Anabel carefully up and down. A small smirk crooked the corner of her mouth as if she wasn’t impressed.

Anabel felt her temper begin to rise. She returned the careful examination she’d been given, getting a closer look at Baronesse Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour.

She was taller than Anabel had realized, close to Aveline’s height. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, and perfectly golden. A little too perfectly golden, Anabel thought, but men never seemed to realize that, and it was perfectly styled, not a hair out of place. Cosmetics had been carefully applied to her face, accentuating the large hazel eyes and the delicate cupid’s bow of a mouth. The gown was a masterpiece of Orlesian fashion, white and gold and trimmed with more gold, tightly corseted which seemed to push that already impressive bosom up and out in a way that was almost gravity defying. 

That didn’t bother Anabel: she’d long ago resigned herself to her deficiencies in that area. What did bother her was the realization that the white and gold dress matched the doublet Sebastian wore almost perfectly. They looked like a matched set.

Far better matched than she and Sebastian, if one were going strictly by appearance. They made a striking couple, in fact. Tall and regal, handsome and elegant. Nobles the both of them. It practically oozed from their pores.

Whatever their relationship had been, Anabel would bet money Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour had never dragged Sebastian into the Deep Roads, or down into the slums of Starkhaven to fight the Carta or the Coterie. And she’d bet Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour’s family had never done anything that resulted in battling a resurrected magister of old. 

“There you are, Anabel.” Sebastian said, apparently unaware of the tension between the two women. He turned back to his companion. “Orelia, this is my wife, Anabel. Anabel this is Orelia Renard. Her father was ambassador to Starkhaven when we were both children.” 

Elegant. The woman was so elegant. Unquestionably, undeniably elegant.

As much as she might have improved over the last few years, Anabel knew she’d never be elegant.

_You’ll never be elegant, Anabel._

Some flicker of doubt must have shown on her face, because Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour laughed, a light musical trill of a laugh that Anabel suspected she’d practiced for years.

It made Anabel want to hit her.

“Hardly children, Se-bas-ti-an.” Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour said dragging out each syllable of his name, and adding in swift Orlesian. “We did many things suited only for adults, don’t you remember?” She trailed one finger of the hand she still had resting on Sebastian’s arm in a small circle. 

Sebastian immediately frowned and pulled his arm back. Anabel’s anger and jealousy receded, just a bit.

And she could have behaved, really, if Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour, hadn’t turned and looked down at her with a patronizing smile. “So this is your little wife. Why Se-bas-ti-an, she’s adorable. Such a sweet child. And so proper. Like a sister of the Chantry. After so many years as a priest I can see why she would appeal to you. Even the way she dresses. So proper. So simple.” She made it sound unclear whether it was Anabel’s dress or Anabel herself that was simple

Anabel’s temper came roaring back, and the jealousy right along with it. 

In a few months everyone would know about the chaste marriage. Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour would probably laugh herself silly when she heard. 

Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour who’d made love to Sebastian, when Anabel never would. 

Her eyes narrowed. Well she might not have that, but Sebastian was still her husband, in every sense of the word as far as anybody but her friends and Elthina knew.

She smiled, a lazy catlike smile that would have made Isabela proud, before turning to Sebastian. “You haven’t said a proper hello yet, Se-bas-ti-an.” She said, pulling out each syllable. Before he could object she’d moved closer pressing her body up against him, sliding one hand around his neck and curling it into his hair. She pulled his head down and went up on the tips of her toes simultaneously. He didn’t resist, but she knew he knew what she was about to do, and she knew he didn’t quite approve, but she was fairly certain he knew why she was doing it.

_When on Thedas had things gotten so complicated between them?_ The thought distracted her enough that she tottered on her toes.

His hands went automatically to her waist to steady her, and even that small touch made her shiver.

Sebastian felt the shiver and his hands tightened around her waist. Maker, how long had it been since he’d put his hands on her? Weeks now. It had been too hard to resist her. Too hard to not want more. Sweet Andraste, he had missed it.

She saw the sudden heat in his eyes. “Kiss me.” She whispered, wanting it now for reasons that had nothing to do with the Orlesian woman standing next to them. “Please.”

He hesitated, but didn’t pull away, and she reached up and brushed her mouth against his, and he couldn’t help catching her upper lip between his own. Unable to stop herself she ran her tongue along his lips and neither of them could prevent a small moan of pleasure at that familiar, taste and feel and the rush of desire. It felt like forever since they kissed. 

She pressed herself closer him and his arms went around her pulling her so tightly against him that it might have been painful if either of them were less aroused. He deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and she responded in kind as if they were trying to devour each other. She squirmed against him trying to get closer still.

“I see. Not so proper then.” The Baronesse made it sound like an insult now.

They pulled slowly apart both of them breathing heavily. Orelia Amelia Renard de la Tour looked cross. Very cross indeed, Anabel couldn’t help noticing. She couldn’t keep from smiling, even as she became aware of the buzz of scandalized whispers from the assembled nobles. She saw Bran quite literally throw his hands up, as if he despaired of her.

She didn’t care about either. She leaned her head against her husband’s chest and felt his arm slide around her waist. “Baronesse, I’ve been called many things since coming to Kirkwall, but proper has never been one of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> photos, references and Dragon Age related stuff can be found on my tumblr [All That Might Be photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/all+that+might+be)


	9. Kiss as a Distraction (Kaidan Alenko/Ophelia Shepard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pixelatrix asked Kiss as a Distraction - Any

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan and Ophelia Shepard from Come Back Home. Takes place in ME3, after the date at Apollo’s Café, after Kaidan and Shepard have reconciled.

Kaidan rolled over in the bed, reaching out to put his arm around Ophelia only to realize she wasn’t there. 

_Not again._ He thought. He sat up and looked towards the desk. 

_Again_. He shook his head. Shepard was hunched over the desk with half a dozen datapads spread out in front of her. She hadn’t turned on the light. Only the light from the fish tank and the monitor illuminated the cabin.

He pushed the covers back and got to his feet. 

He’d been back on the Normandy for almost a month, and sharing her cabin (one of the worst kept secrets on the Normandy) for more than a week.

Every single night he’d woken up to find her at her terminal, studying reports, answering emails, writing analyses for Hackett, or the Council, or Anderson. He’d had no idea she was functioning on this little sleep. He doubted anyone else on the Normandy did either.

She looked up and saw him. 

“Hey.” She said softly. “Did I wake you up?”

“No.” He moved to stand behind her chair, bringing his hands to rest on her shoulders. “What are you working on?”

“A report for Hackett about those mercs Aria’s loaning us. I don’t think he’s quite comfortable with the idea of using them.

Kaidan wasn’t either, though he didn’t say that. “I’m pretty sure that can wait until tomorrow at least.”

She gave a weary laugh. “Yeah, but who knows what I’ll have to do tomorrow.” 

She was right. Requests came in daily. Hourly almost. But she wouldn’t be able to deal with any of them if she didn’t start sleeping more. He began to gently massage her neck and she let out a moan of pleasure that went straight to his groin. 

And then he had an idea. Not a terribly original idea, but still…

He reached down and unzipped the hoodie she’d thrown on, and slipped it off her shoulders, realizing as he did that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, just panties and the hoodie. 

_God_. He shouldn’t find that as sexy as he did. He leaned down and kissed the side of her neck and then that spot where her neck and her shoulder joined. She shivered, as he’d known she would. He bit lightly down, and heard her draw her breath in sharply.

“Kaidan…” Her voice was pleading.

He turned her chair around and went down on his knees in front of her, tugging the hoodie the rest of the way off. She let him which was a good sign for his plans. “Is that ‘Kaidan, stop’ or ‘Kaidan don’t stop’?”

She opened her mouth to answer and he bent his head and licked. She let out a small cry. “Don’t stop.” She said breathlessly. “Please don’t stop.”

He lifted his head and looked up at her. The weariness in her eyes had been replaced by need and he couldn’t help smiling. He got to his feet and lifted her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck. He kissed her, running his tongue along her upper lip before pulling back so he could see where he was going and carrying her back to the bed. She buried her face in his neck, licking and lightly biting. 

Tomorrow he’d talk to the rest of the crew, and see which of her shipboard duties they could relieve her of, and he’d see if he could vid call Hackett and see what the Admiral could to slow the flood of requests for her help, but for now….

For now he could make love to her until she was so exhausted that all she’d be able to do afterwards was sleep.

He lowered her to the bed, covering her body with his own. She ground herself against him and he couldn’t help a small groan. 

_It was a tough job_ , he thought, hiding a smile, _but somebody had to do it_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more photo inspirations and other Mass Effect related things can be found on my tumblr: [Come Back Home inspiration/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/Come+Back+Home)


	10. An Accidental Kiss (Annie Hawke/Anders - A Happy Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feylen asked for an accidental kiss with Anders and Annie from A Happy Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place about a year after Anders moves into the apartment, shortly after Isabela has moved in as well.

“You have pretty lips. Especially the lower one. It’s just asking to be sucked on you know.” Annie reached up with both hands, stroking the sides of his face.

“Is it?” He asked trying to hold her upright and dig for his keys at the same time. He finally found them and brushed her hands away from his face.

“Oh yes. Like a pacifier. Like a living, pouty, wet pacifier.”

“That sounds attractive.” He said dryly. Really the last thing he had needed at the end of a particularly trying double shift was to come back, hear a lot of hooting and hollering from the Hanged Man, look in the window to see what was going on and see Annie, dressed in jeans and a halter top dancing on top of the bar with Isabela. He’d gone in and discovered she was absolutely shitfaced; something about quitting her job or losing her job, and drinking to celebrate or to drink her worries away. He’d realized quickly if he wanted a coherent version of the story it would have to wait until morning. He’d pried the tequila bottle out of her hand and passed it to Carver, who seemed to be finding the whole thing hilarious. 

“Hey, we’re upstairs.”

“Well done, Sherlock.” He could almost excuse Carver, who was barely out of his teens, but Isabela didn’t have that excuse. She was old enough to know better than to encourage that sort of behavior. He’d definitely be having a talk with her tomorrow morning. He glanced over at Annie.

She was giving him a reproachful look. “You get really sarcastic when you’re drunk.”

He finally got the door unlocked. “I’m not drunk. You are.”

She frowned. “Oh. Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” He pushed open the door. Unfortunately she was leaning against it and fell right on her bottom with an impressively loud thunk.

“Shit. Are you all right?” He crouched down next to her.

She blinked and looked around. “I’m on the floor.”

“Yes. Sorry about that.” 

“S’okay.”

He reached out a hand to help her to her feet. She stared at it for a moment and then looked up at him. Not at his eyes he realized. At his lips. His lower lip, specifically.

He had only a second to realize what she was about to do before she’d lunged at him, grabbed his face in her hands and latched on to his lower lip, sucking gently. 

Of course the movement put that amazingly full upper lip in his mouth. He could taste the tequila and the lime from the shots she’d been doing, and underneath that …. her. 

She tasted amazing.

With a willpower he didn’t know he possessed, he somehow resisted the urge to return the favor and tug on her lip.

She pulled back, still sucking lightly and released his lip with a soft pop. “See? Wasn’t that nice?”

He didn’t – couldn’t answer her. 

When he didn’t answer she frowned. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” She reached out and stroked his face again, as if trying to reassure herself. “It was an accident.” She kept stroking, but her hand drifted so that she was mostly stroking his nose now.

He couldn’t help smiling. Maker, she was drunk. “An accident?”

She scowled at him. “Like you never have accidents.” 

He pulled her to her feet and managed to get her up to her bedroom before she passed out on one of the two beds she had pushed together. He lay down on the other bed watching her for a while before he too fell asleep.

He was entirely unsurprised when he woke to the sounds of her retching in the bathroom. She’d been in enough of a hurry that she hadn’t closed the door and he moved quickly behind her and held back her hair as she retched again. When she stopped, he went up on his knees and filled a glass with water from the tap and handed it to her. “Rinse your mouth out.” 

She did as he ordered, and when she finished, he was there with a damp cold wash cloth wiping her face, and the back of her neck. 

She gave him a small smile. “You’re awfully nice to me.” She said, and her voice sounded feeble even to her.

He smiled. “I don’t plan on making a habit of it if you keep getting this drunk.”

She shuddered at the thought. “I think I’ll abstain for a while. I’m not sure being drunk suits me.” She tried to remember getting home. No. It was a complete blank. She found herself staring at his mouth, though she wasn’t quite sure why. She frowned and looked up to find him watching her with an almost wary expression. “I didn’t do anything embarrassing last night, did I?” 

For a moment she could have sworn he looked disappointed, and then he gave her a rueful smile. “No.” He assured her. “Not even accidentally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> photos, references and Dragon Age related stuff can be found on my tumblr [A Happy Accident photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/a+happy+accident)


	11. A Kiss for Show (Allistair Theirin/Nell Cousland)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from the kiss prompts on tumblr, aura890 requested a kiss for show with Alistair and Nell from Battle Maiden

Nell Cousland had never had problems with sex: not with wanting it, not with finding willing partners, not with enjoying it, not even when she was sixteen and had decided to see what all the fuss was about, and had seduced Roderick Gilmore and managed to make it seem like it was all his idea. 

Of course when her father had walked in on them early the next morning, she’d readily admitted it was all her doing. What else could she do while poor Gilly stood there pale as the sheets of the bed, looking so nervous that she’d been afraid he might faint or throw up? She’d been rather proud of the arguments she’d brought forth too: if she had been a boy her father wouldn’t have thought twice about it, and so as long as she was careful, respected her partners, made sure they respected her and employed some easily obtainable methods of preventing an unwanted pregnancy or sexual disease, why shouldn’t she enjoy sex the way men did? 

Her father had looked almost as pale as Gilly when she was done. 

Her subsequent partners had been all too glad to be involved with a woman who wasn’t looking for a commitment, one who simply wanted to enjoy herself. It had been remarkably easy to convince them to join her.

But Alistair…

She’d never met anyone like him.

That statement applied to a lot of things about him, but right now she was thinking of his increasingly frustrating reluctance to sleep with her. 

Be intimate with her.

Bed her. 

Have sex with her. 

Fuck her until she couldn’t see straight.

Apparently she had run out of euphemisms. 

She honestly didn’t know what to do. He’d looked so appalled when she’d asked him if he wanted to come back to her tent early on in their travels, that she’d been afraid to reissue the invitation.

She’d been watching him as he talked with Wynne one night when Zevran had sat down beside her.

“Such a scowl, my goddess. It will age you before your time.” He’d cautioned her.

She’d turned to look at him. “If you were given the chance would you sleep with me or not?” She’d asked abruptly.

He'd given her a wary look. “Which answer will be less likely to get me stabbed?”

That had only deepened her scowl and she’d turned back to watch Alistair again.

“Ah.” Said Zevran, understanding now. “You grow frustrated with our handsome templar’s reluctance?”

She didn’t answer. 

Zevran watched her for a moment. “Might I make a suggestion?” 

“Go ahead.” She told him, not taking her eyes from Alistair. “Maker knows I’ve run out of ideas.”

“Woo him.”

She turned and raised an eyebrow. “Woo him? That’s your suggestion?”

Zevran shrugged. “In many ways you behave as a man does and Alistair as a woman. You are confident, skilled, experienced in the ways of love, whereas our young templar grew up quite sheltered. All of this is new to him. He needs to be slowly led to where you want him. He needs to be wooed.” When Nell gave him a skeptical look, he’d asked her. “Were you never wooed when you were innocent and uncertain?”

She couldn’t help laughing. “No. I always found it a bit of a waste of time, actually.” 

“Try it, my goddess.” Zevran had said, getting to his feet. “Woo him. I think you will be pleased with the results.” 

And so she’d wooed him, carefully, cautiously, gently, trying not to frighten him, not to be too direct or aggressive. It wasn’t easy for her. She sometimes felt like she was courting a very shy woodland creature (which seemed ridiculous given Alistair’s height and bulk), but she’d done it — given him compliments, given him gifts, given him her attention and affection and it had seemed to be working. 

Late one night when she’d been on watch, he’d come out of his tent and sat down beside her. They’d talked for a while and then suddenly he’d been confessing to his growing feelings towards her and when she’d confessed to feeling the same he’d kissed her, kissed her so thoroughly and so skillfully that she’d been rendered momentarily speechless.

“Was that too soon?” He’d asked carefully.

She’d stood there, tingling down to the tips of her toes and managed to get out. “No. Not too soon. I liked it.” 

He’d given her a relieved smile. “Good. I’ll take that as a good sign.” He’d looked at her adoringly as if she were something wondrous and new. “Maker’s Breath, but you’re beautiful. I am a lucky man.” And then he’d turned and gone back to his tent.

She’d only been able to goggle after him. She’d spent the rest of the night smiling stupidly into the campfire, occasionally touching her fingers to her lips, remembering how the kiss had felt.

And since then there had been….nothing.

Well nothing more. He was still as attentive as ever, but there hadn’t been a repeat of that kiss. There hadn’t been a repeat of anything. Certainly things hadn’t progressed, and she didn’t think she could give him any more rune stones or small carved figurines without looking like a complete fool.

She could scream with frustration. 

Worst of all were the rest of her companions. Morrigan and Sten seemed appalled that she was even making the effort. Leliana had taken to giving her sympathetic hugs and attempting to style her hair in different ways. Wynne would pat her hand in a patronizing manner, telling her things had a way of working out for the best. Zevran had started out counseling patience, but of late had taken to once again offering to relieve her tension. 

And she was so sexually frustrated she’d actually considered it for about three seconds. Then she’d whirled away from him and stalked out of camp.

Alistair had looked up as she’d stalked by. “Hey, where are you going?”

“For a swim.” She’d shouted over her shoulder.

“The water will be freezing at this time of year.” He called after her.

“I’m counting on it.” She muttered.

The water had been so cold it had been almost painful. She was shivering as she pulled her clothes back on. 

She had no idea what she was supposed to do next. A declaration of love? Walk up to him and say _'Here’s the thing, being with you makes me crazy but I can’t imagine being without you?_ '

Right. There wasn’t a person alive who could pull off that line.

She was pathetic. _Someday you’ll find a man who’ll be able to handle you_ , Fergus had warned her once, and she’d laughed at him, picturing some big brute of a man who’d try and control her and make her behave as a proper Fereldan noblewoman should.

She’d never in a hundred years guessed she’d be aching to be handled by a twenty-five year old Chantry virgin.

“Hey. I brought you a blanket.” Alistair was suddenly there, wrapping one of the blankets from camp around her shoulders. 

It helped but she was still shivering.

He frowned and wrapped his arms around her trying to warm her. “I thought you were supposed to be the one who had sense.” He commented, rubbing his hands up and down her back. “Is everything okay? Is it Zevran?”

She huddled closer to him, and not just because he radiated warmth like a furnace, and shook her head. “No. Yes. It’s all of them. They think I’m pathetic.”

“Well they’re nuts if they think that. Name one pathetic thing you’ve ever done.”

She went still trying to decide if she should say anything and decided at this point she had nothing else to lose. “I’ve been trying to woo you and failing miserably.” She said leaning her head against his shoulder. As tall as she was, Alistair was the only man she’d been able to do that with while standing. 

His hands paused on her back. “You’ve been wooing me?” He asked finally.

She pulled back and swatted him with both hands. “Yes I’ve been wooing you. I’ve been wooing you and you haven’t even noticed. That’s how pathetic I am.”

He looked completely confused. “Why in the Maker’s name would you think you had to woo me? I told you how I felt. I kissed you.”

“And it’s been weeks and you haven’t kissed me again.” 

She could see his cheeks flush even in the dim twilight. 

“We haven’t really been alone.” He stammered. “The others have always been there or nearby…” He gave her a rueful look. “And that’s the whole problem isn’t it? They’ve never seen us.” 

She shook her head. “No. They didn’t see the kiss or hear how you felt – how we felt – about each other. They just think I’m spectacularly bad at seduction, or that you aren’t at interested, and I haven’t gotten the message. Pathetic, see?” She couldn’t help a small sigh.

“Maker. I just assumed they’d know from the way I looked at you, that it must be written all over my face. I didn’t realize we had to put on a show. I’m sorry. This romance stuff’s new to me, you know. Raised by dogs and all…” 

He looked so discouraged that she began to feel guilty. She leaned over and gently kissed his cheek. “Let’s go back to camp.”

They didn’t speak as they walked. She glanced sideways at him. He was frowning, as if he was trying to puzzle something out. 

Dinner was ready, and the others were already eating when they arrived back. Wordlessly she grabbed a couple of bowls. She filled one and passed it to Alistair. 

He stared at it for a moment, and then at her, and muttered. “Right.” And then he pushed the bowl aside, grabbing her face between his hands, and he kissed her. Really kissed her.

And Sweet Andraste, it was just as good as the first time he had done it. She dropped the bowl and the ladle on the ground and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all passion she’d been keeping inside for the past few weeks. One of his hands went around her waist and the other slid into her hair. 

Dimly she heard Morrigan mutter. “Ugh.” and Zevran let out a low whistle of appreciation. 

Alistair pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. They were both breathing heavily. “I think we’ve made our point, don’t you? They’ll have figured it out?” He asked quietly.

She smiled happily. “I think so. Of course there might be a demand for a repeat performance from time to time.” 

He smiled back at her. “You don’t think they’ll be satisfied with that show?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I’m not sure I’ll be satisfied with it.” His cheeks turned pink, and she couldn’t help laughing and kissing him once more. She reached out and stroked his cheek, staring at him in wonder. “I am a lucky woman.” She said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Battle Maiden photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/battle+maiden)


	12. A Last Kiss (Kaidan Alenko/Ophelia Shepard -- Come Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from the kiss prompts on tumblr: annierox023 asked for a last kiss between Ophelia Shepard and Kaidan Alenko Takes place in London before the final push, and then on the crucible.

_London 2187_

“We know the score. We know we’re not coming back from this one. We know this is goodbye.”

She could only stare at him.

She’d been dreading saying good bye to Kaidan. God, dreading was such a stupid word. You dreaded exams at school or boring Alliance banquets that you couldn’t get out of. Saying good bye to the love of your life after only just having gotten him back? After having lost almost three years together? Dread didn’t even begin to cover it. 

She’d been terrified of it. Worried that for once she wouldn’t be able to compartmentalize Ophelia and Commander Shepard. That she’d beg Kaidan to just run off with her somewhere; that there must be some planet, somewhere they could hide from the Reapers, that even the Reapers couldn’t be everywhere, not yet. Javik and Liara both agreed the Harvest could take hundreds of years, so why couldn’t she and Kaidan just find somewhere, live out their lives with each other? 

But to have him say that. 

_We know this is goodbye._

To know he’d already given up. 

She’d never in a million years have expected to hear those words come out of his mouth. She’s always been the pragmatic, practical and honest one. Brutally honest when it wasn’t always necessary, some had said. It’s Kaidan who’s always been the optimistic one, the one who had all the hope and all the belief in humanity and in the Alliance, in the galaxy.

_We know this is goodbye._

It’s as if the foundation she’s been standing on has collapsed. Not collapsed – vanished. He’s not even looking at her when he says it.

“There’s things I want to say. Looking back, I’ve had a few regrets but not many, And that’s pretty damn amazing, right? Messed up kid that I was, I never would have dreamed of the life I’ve had. And I owe a lot of that to you. “ 

She only half heard what he was saying and still didn’t speak. 

He gave her an uncertain smile. “How are you doing? Scared?” 

Her expression didn’t change but she seemed to be breathing faster. “Yes.” She said flatly.

His face softened. “We’ve done everything we can to be ready for this last push, Shepard. You’ve run the numbers a hundred times. None of this would have happened without you. But we’ve done what we could. You rallied the galaxy behind you, you’ve been an inspiration to everyone, Hackett and the fleet, Anderson and the troops down her, they couldn’t have made it this far without you, but you can’t worry about that any more. At this point…” He gave a small shrug. “It’s gonna be what it’s gonna be.” He reached out to touch her and to his surprise she jerked away from him. 

When she spoke her voice was low and harsh with emotion. “You listen to me, Kaidan Alenko. You don’t get to lose faith now. When this is over I’m going to be waiting for you, and you’d better show up. Because if you can’t believe that we have a chance? If you aren’t going to fight? If you’re going to give up now after all that we’ve been through, everything we’ve overcome…if what you said last night about making it through this, if all that’s a lie, if you don’t believe we’re going to…If your saying “I love you until the end of time’ only meant until today…” She shoved him suddenly. “Fuck Hackett and the fleet and Anderson and the troops and everyone else in the galaxy. I’m not scared about if we have enough soldiers or guns or ships, I’m not worried about fleet strength or logistics or battle plans. Because when it comes right down to it… “ 

Her voice cracked, and for a moment she thought she might burst into tears and she had to stop and take a deep breath, clenching her hands into fists by her sides. 

“Because when it comes right down to it, the thing that’s going to keep me going, that’s going to have me charge into that beam this time isn’t saving the Earth, or humanity or any of the other races in the galaxy. You came to my cabin last night and made love to me and told me we were ready and that I’d given the galaxy hope. How dare you?” Her voice was louder now, not quite shouting but close to it. “How dare you turn around and take that hope away from me now?”

She saw the soldiers nearby looking over with frowns on their faces and she forced herself to lower her voice. “What's going to let me do what I need to do to get this done is knowing that when it’s done, when it’s finally finished that you’ll be there and you and I will finally get to have our life together, that we’ll finally get our happily ever after. Screw everything else. That’s what I’m fighting for. And if you don’t believe that’s going to happen? If that’s the way you really feel in spite of everything you said last night?” Her voice cracked again and she was suddenly blinking back tears. “Then I don’t want a last kiss from you.” 

He was staring at her with a stunned expression on his face. Now he was the one who didn’t move or speak.

She swallowed hard. “Take care, Major.” She started to turn away. To walk away wondering how in hell she was going to keep walking and keep fighting if Kaidan didn’t believe they had a chance. 

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back up against him. “You think I’m not going to fight for the chance to hold you again?” He demanded. “Christ, Ophelia!” For the first time since she walked up he seems less passive, less resigned.

“Then why would you say that?” She asked him. “ _We know this is goodbye. We know we’re not coming back from this._ How could you say that to me?”

His hands tightened on her waist. “I have to say it.” He said through gritted teeth. “Because the last time.” He stopped for a minute to compose himself and then continued. “Because when the Normandy went down and I lost you I had never even considered the possibility of it. Never considered that I could lose you. That I could be expected to go on without you. I can’t do that again. I can’t lose you again. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Through all these years. Through everything. I am the luckiest man alive to have been given that chance.”

He pulled her close and kissed her then, kissed her the way he did when they were alone, his lips warm and firm against hers, parting her lips and using his tongue to caress and taste, as if he was trying to remember every kiss they’d had, and imagining all the kisses they might still share, and she met every movement and caress with her own. She felt tears on her cheeks, and she wasn’t sure if they were hers or his. 

He was the one who finally pulled back. “That’s not a last kiss.” He told her. “If you want a last kiss, then you come back to me, do you hear me, Ophelia? You don’t get to leave me again, Commander, is that clear? I will be waiting for you when this is over. But a last kiss? That’s not going to happen now. That’s going to happen when we’re both old and grey and surrounded by our kids and grandkids. So you want that, then you get through this. You survive.” 

She couldn’t speak. Just nodded.

“Good.” His eyes ran over her face, as if trying to memorize it. “I should go and find the rest of my squad.” 

She nodded slowly again, feeling like she could breathe now. And as if they’d silently agreed to it, they both turned simultaneously and walked away from each other without looking back.

 

_Aboard the Crucible_

“If there is to be a new solution then you must act.” The catalyst said in that strange disembodied little boy voice.

“I don’t understand.” She said hoarsely. She listened as the catalyst explained.

_Destroy the reapers. But all synthetics will be targeted._

_Control the reapers. You will die. You will control us but you will lose everything you have._

“There is a third solution now.” It added, tilting its small head to look up at her. “Synthesis. Now that we know it is possible it is inevitable that we will reach synthesis.”

Some warning seemed to sound in her head. “Then why didn’t you do it before?”

“Organics were not ready. It could not be forced. You are ready.” It blinked its eyes at her. It seemed pleased almost.

“I’m only one organic.” She said. How could she make that choice?

“You can make the choice.” It said, as if it had heard her thought. It seemed eager. The statement seemed to pulse in her head. _You can make the choice._

“I - I don’t know.” It didn’t feel right.

“Why not?” It pulsed louder this time and she couldn’t help wincing.

“There will be peace?” If it would bring peace then maybe it was the right choice

“You will become part of the catalyst. The cycle will end, the reapers will cease their harvest and the civilizations preserved inside them will be connected to all of us. Synthesis is the final evolution of all life. The paths are open. But you have to choose.” 

Destroy. Control. Synthesis.

 _Synthesis_. The final evolution. No. That wasn’t right. Evolution didn’t cease. It didn’t have an end point. That wasn’t how the universe worked.

 _Control_. Become part of the reapers. Lose everything. Would there be anything of her left at all? And if there wasn’t then how would she be any different from the reapers? Who could say that she wouldn’t begin to think like them, act like them and resume the Harvests, start the cycles all over again?

 _Destroy_. All synthetics gone. The Geth. EDI. Could she make that choice? Destroy the race. No. that wasn’t what the catalyst had said. The reapers would be destroyed. 

All synthetics would be targeted. Not destroyed. It was a chance. They might lose the synthetics. But they might not. It was hope.

She started moving towards the console, her body screaming in protest as she tried to lift her pistol. She had to stop to wipe the blood off her hand so that she could get a firm enough grip on it before she moved forward once again, somehow managing it, in spite of the pain, moving forward, raising the pistol, trying to focus on the target, dizzy and faint, and bleeding, but firing once, then a second time. God, she hurt. But it let her know she was alive. She had a chance. She had hope. She was moving faster and firing more quickly now and the whole thing lit up and shattered and the explosion threw her back, and then there was a light brighter than all of the other explosions going on around her, and a deafening roar of power building up and then crucible was firing. 

She’d made the choice. She had a chance no matter how small. 

She had hope.

She would survive the next few hours or days or however long it took for the Normandy to find her. For Kaidan to find her.

He had promised her a last kiss. And she was going to hold him to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more photo inspirations and other Mass Effect related things can be found on my tumblr: [Come Back Home inspiration/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/Come+Back+Home)


	13. A Pregnant Kiss (Annie Hawke/Sebastian Vael --  A Happy Accident)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this came about from about six different prompts on tumblr that I combined into one: a fluffy pregnant Annie (whom Sebastian calls Anabel) and Sebastian kisses story.

When Sebastian woke up, he was alone in the bed. It was barely light out. He turned and looked at the illuminated clock. Not even six yet. 

She barely slept more than three hour at a time these days. 

He sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment rubbing his eyes and trying to wake up, before standing and pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms. He knew where he would find her.

He went downstairs and into the kitchen. The double doors of the refrigerator were both wide open and he could see her feet below them. 

“I don’t think ice cream is on the list of suggested breakfast foods your obstetrician gave you, you know.” He called out from the doorway.

She didn’t even hesitate with her reply. “I don’t think I care, you know.” She said through a mouthful of ice cream.

He came around the edge of the door. 

Anabel was standing there, holding a container of vanilla ice cream and a spoon. Her hair was in a ponytail that he suspected had started out on the top of her head, but had slid down slightly to one side. She was wearing a cotton jersey maternity nightshirt that she’d grudgingly purchased when even his t-shirts wouldn’t stretch across her belly any longer. It had pink flowers on it, and lace and a small pink bow at the neck, and even he had to admit it was a very un-Anabel garment. The tub of ice cream was resting on her belly. It was the one craving that had remained consistent throughout the pregnancy: plain vanilla ice cream. And it had to be real vanilla, not anything with artificial flavor. He’d learned that one the hard way when she’d sent him out at 3AM for some, and then he’d had to go out again to get ‘the right vanilla ice cream, not this chemically flavored crap, is that really so difficult?’. 

She was leaning against the open refrigerator and scooped another spoon into her mouth daring him to say anything. 

“I suppose leaving the refrigerator doors open is a necessity?” He asked with a small smile.

“Uh huh.” She said as she swallowed. “It’s your own fault for knocking me up so that I would deliver during the hottest month of the year. I don’t think there’s actually a baby in here. I think it’s some kind of fire demon. All it does is generate heat. I’ve never been so hot in my life.” She complained. She dropped the spoon into the tub and put the lid back on the container and the container back into the freezer. “I can’t eat anymore.” 

“Not hungry, or heartburn?” He asked.

“Both.” She said crankily. “This kid has pushed all my organs into places they’re not supposed to be. I think my stomach’s somewhere up by my left ear. There’s no more room in there and it doesn’t care. It doesn’t care if I can’t eat or sleep or if I have to pee every fifteen minutes because it’s tap dancing on my bladder!” She sounded as if she might cry.

“Only two weeks longer.” He said, in a soothing voice.

She burst into tears. 

Sebastian didn’t say anything just pulled her gently into his arms, holding her close (or at least as close as was possible these days), rubbing her back with one hand, while quietly closing the refrigerator doors with the other. To say her emotions were volatile of late was an understatement. She was as likely to burst into tears as into laughter. One simply never knew which it would be.

“I’m so tired of being pregnant.” She said through her sobs.

“I know you are “

“I’m enormous. I’m a sphere.” 

“No, not a sphere.” She was impressively large though. Complete strangers would stop her on the street and enquire if she was carrying twins, however, an ultrasound early in the pregnancy had confirmed that wasn’t the case. It was just a very large and healthy baby, and she was a very small woman. 

“I’m not wearing underwear because I dropped it on the floor and I couldn’t reach down to pick it up again.” She sobbed into his chest. 

He couldn’t help laughing, not even when she looked up and glared at him. “I’m sorry.” He said, still laughing.

“It’s your fault. I blame you entirely.” But he caught a glimpse of her dimple at the corner of her mouth. She brushed the tears from her eyes.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “And I fully accept the blame.”

She rested her head against his chest. “I’m sorry I’m impossible.” 

“You aren’t impossible.” He assured her.

“Difficult then.” 

“Not even that. Come back to bed. I’ll pile up all the pillows so you can sleep propped up, and if you like I’ll rub your feet.” 

She looked as if she was giving the idea grudging consideration. “Can we turn down the thermostat in the bedroom?” She asked hopefully.

“Definitely.” He said, though it was set several degrees colder than the rest of the house already. He put a guiding hand at her back and led her from the kitchen, wondering if she would take it the wrong way if he were to wear a hat and gloves to bed. 

It was probably best not to risk it.

“The next time you knock me up I want to be due in the dead of winter, I’m telling you that right now.” She grumbled taking a hold of the bannister and scowling at the flight of stairs leading up to the bedroom.

He couldn’t help smiling as he watched her waddle up the stairs. He would never say the word out loud, of course, but truly there wasn’t another word that described her movements quite so accurately these days. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> photos, references and Dragon Age related stuff can be found on my tumblr [A Happy Accident photo/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/a+happy+accident)


End file.
